


Thunder & Angels

by pm_lo



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dubious Consent, First Time, Harlequin, Homophobia, M/M, Romance Novel, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-25
Updated: 2014-01-13
Packaged: 2017-12-30 10:25:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1017478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pm_lo/pseuds/pm_lo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel’s family owns the shoddily-regulated coal mine where John Winchester works, so Dean storms Cas’s mansion, demanding answers from the drugged-out trust-fund kid. In exchange for his help repairing the mine, Cas demands Dean live with him for three months and give Cas a shot at seducing him by allowing him one kiss a day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fusion of Supernatural and a romance novel called Thunder & Roses that I read when I was 13 and clearly have not gotten over since.

The sun hit Cas’s eyelids like a brick to the head.

“Today’s the day, Benny,” he told his forearm, thrown over his eyes in self-defense. “Today’s the day I finally fire you.”

A quiet _mmhm_ and the sound of fabric rustling came from somewhere to his left. Cas steeled himself and manfully opened his eyes to the sight of his butler drawing the last of the curtains back, then turning to face him.

“What,” Cas croaked, rubbing the sand out of his eyes.

“You have a visitor,” Benny drawled, face carefully blank.

“I told you, send them home,” Cas said, falling back against the pillows. “I need at least another four hours to recuperate.”

“Not one of them from last night,” Benny said. “A man from town.”

Cas frowned, and turned his head. “Who?”

Benny allowed himself a small smile. Cas’s frown deepened.

“You’re here to insulate me from country bumpkins, all-out lunatics, and general stupidity,” Cas said. “It’s one of the perks of being a recluse. Send him away.”

“I tried,” Benny said, fighting a grin. “He was very persistent. Says he needs to speak with you _now_.”

Cas’s disdain battled with his curiosity and lost. He sat up, stretching, and said, “If this turns out to be a psychopath who murders me, my father is _definitely_ going to dock your pay.”

Benny _mmhm_ ’d again and turned, tossing over his shoulder, “He’s waitin’ in the drawing room.”

“Which one is the -” Cas said, before the door clicked shut and he sighed. 

***

It was either the fanciest or most disgusting room Dean had ever been in - he couldn’t decide.

Cigarette butts littered the persian rug. A bra that looked like it had been dipped in some kind of oil hung off the edge of a clock that would definitely get you five figures on Antiques Roadshow. Prescription bottles and glow sticks (really? glow sticks?) peeked out of the bottom of dusty maroon drapes, and the room smelled... a little like the hallway of Sammy’s dorm had smelled the last time Dean had visited, except a _thousand_ times worse.

He ran a hand through his hair and tapped his foot. He’d been so angry on the drive up here, so ready to be turned away by a squad of security guards or a snobby butler. When the cajun guy had answered the door and shown him up to this den of iniquity, it had transformed all his righteous fury into a ball of anxiety. And the now-twenty minute wait wasn’t helping.

He jumped as he heard a bang from somewhere nearby, followed by a hiss, and a gravelly voice saying, “Fuck. Benny!”

Dean glanced around. Was he supposed to be doing something?

The knocking continued in a circle around him, with more curses and shouts for Benny. Finally, the door across from him opened.

A man staggered in who precisely matched the room. His white dress shirt was stained and rumpled and sort of hung off his frame. His feet were bare beneath expensive-looking but wrinkled slacks. His eyes were blue and the bruises under them were purple. His black hair stuck up pronouncedly on one side, and his stubble was at least three days gone. Still, he had a look about him - expensive. Like the room underneath the trash.

The man blinked at him, and Dean stared back. The man spoke first: “Is this the drawing room?”

Dean’s mouth opened. “... um, I dunno?”

The man frowned at him. “Are you the man who wouldn’t leave until I spoke to you?”

Just like that, Dean was jolted back into the present. He straightened, fixed the man with a glare, and said, “Are you Castiel Davies?”

The man - Castiel - smirked, started patting his pockets and circling around the room, and said, “This should be good.”

“Excuse me?”

He continued puttering around, as if searching for something. “So what’s your problem? Noise complaint? Immoral behavior? Corrupting the youth?” He bent and picked up a few of the prescription bottles, shaking them until one rattled. He tipped the pink pill into his palm, and then said, “Sorry, hick moralizing is much less fun when sober. Or worse, hung-over.”

“Hick - what - hang on!” Dean said, as the guy clapped his palm to his mouth and tossed his head back to swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I’m not here to -”

“Wait a minute,” Castiel interrupted. “I know you.”

That shut Dean up. “I saw you the other night, at that hideous place in town, what was it...”

“The Roadhouse?” Dean supplied.

“Yes, yes, you were one of the scandalized natives,” he said. “But I don’t think it was you who told us to, ah, _get lost, faggots_?”

Dean swallowed. Castiel continued, “It hurt Ian - Ion? - whatever his name was, he was very upset. I had to ply him with single-malt to get him to put out.”

Something cold snaked down the back of Dean’s neck at Castiel’s tone - so bored, so calm, as if they were discussing the weather. He ground his teeth and said, “That wasn’t me.”

Castiel’s gaze snapped back to his, and he smiled serenely. “Of course it wasn’t. I remember you vividly - I never forget a pretty face.”

Dean clenched his fists and decided to get to the point. “I’m here about the mine.”

There was a long pause. Finally Castiel blinked and glanced down at his shirt, as if expecting the mine to be there, then back up, and said, “What?”

“The Little Branch Mine?” Dean supplied. “Just north of town? Owned by Blankenship Energy, a subsidiary of Gilvary Global, which is part of...”

“Davies International,” Castiel finished, smiling slightly at something just over Dean’s shoulder. He turned to look, but it was the same slightly sticky wood paneling. Castiel kept staring. “Fancy that,” he said. “We own a coal mine. How quaint.”

“It won’t be quaint when you’re responsible for hundreds of people dying,” Dean hissed. Angry satisfaction jolted through him when that finally drew Castiel’s eyes back to his. But the man was still more surprised and confused than horrified enough for Dean’s liking.

“What?” He said.

“The mine’s a disaster waiting to happen,” Dean growled. “The ventilators are shot, tunnels cave in all the time, Zach doesn’t care when the meters show there’s not enough oxygen to breathe - it’s a _miracle_ all that’s happened is a few broken bones. That, of course, and the fact that every miner who manages to ‘retire’ dies hacking their lungs out,” he finished.

There was a much, much longer pause. Castiel’s eyes seemed to shift, finally taking on a depth that they’d lacked since he entered the room. Dean rolled his shoulders but kept his glare fixed on the man, staring him down, daring him to disagree, to push him, to make it a real fight. Castiel’s head tilted slightly to the side.

“What did you say your name was?”

“Dean.” he said. “Dean Winchester.”

“You work in the mine?”

Dean blinked, then glanced at the floor for a moment. “My dad,” he said. After a moment his eyes returned warily to Castiel’s face.

“That’s horrible,” he said finally. “I don’t envy your father. But I’m not sure what you want me to do about it.”

Dean frowned. “You’re Castiel Davies. You’re the Davies who, I dunno, overseas all the operations in this neck of the woods?”

Castiel laughed. “Oh, Dean,” he said. “More like I’m the Davies who got banished to this neck of the woods, to rusticate in obscurity until I’ve _learned my lesson_.” Dean’s frown deepened. “I’m sorry, but my parents oversee all the ‘operations’, and I doubt they care about the safety conditions at the... the -”

“Little Branch Mine,” Dean ground out.

“Yes.”

“You could talk to them,” Dean said. “Tell them -”

“No.” Castiel said. It was the most forceful word he’d uttered since entering the room, as if he hadn’t been fully awake until that moment. “Now, my head is splitting and this room’s just a bit too bright for my enjoyment, so if you’ll please -”

“I’m not leaving here until you agree to help,” Dean said. “It’s your family’s mine and your responsibility. There must be something you can do.”

“But is there anything I _want_ to do?” Castiel mused. “Is there anything I’m _going_ to do? It doesn’t sound like me. I’ve nearly mastered the art of doing nothing at all.” His eyes skated around the room. “Nothing of substance, anyway,” he grinned.

“The hell is wrong with you, man?” Dean wondered. “You just going to stew in your own juices while people are getting hurt?”

“They’re not just my juices,” Castiel winked.

Dean made a face. “So what, you threw a few too many wild parties, and Daddy stuck you in a corner for time-out - that’s why you’re going to let innocent people suffer on your watch?”

Castiel’s eye twitched, but Dean blinked and his face had slid back into wax-like calmness. “You’re so angry,” Castiel told him. “So full of fire. Don’t you understand, Dean? None of it matters. It always ends the same. Why not bang a few gongs before the lights go out?”

 _Gongs?_ “The hell are you smoking, dude?”

“Everything.” Castiel assured him. “Now that we’ve cleared that up, please -”

“I’m _not_ leaving,” Dean said. “You are going to do something about the mine if I have to beat it out of you.”

“Really,” Castiel asked flatly.

“Yeah,” Dean said, glancing from side to side.

“Then I’ll call Benny in here to throw you out. Which would be hilarious, because though you’re big strapping men, I have the feeling you’re both the kicking and slapping type of fighters at heart.”

Dean scowled. They stared each other down. What was weird was that while Dean felt like it was killing him to hold Castiel’s gaze, the other man looked like he was drinking him in, fascinated, as if there was no room or mansion or town around them, just Dean.

Dean cracked first. “Please,” he said quietly, then swallowed reflexively. “We need your help. I’ll do anything.”

Castiel smirked. “Anything?”

Dean felt his face heat, and his gut prickled with anger. “You’re joking.”

Castiel sighed, though his smirk remained. “Yes. I don’t pay for sex, even in the form of coal mining safety regulations.” 

Dean glanced around the room and quirked an eyebrow. “So these folks were here just for the pleasure of your company?”

Castiel grinned. “As a matter of fact, they were.” Dean grimaced and looked away. He could feel the tips of his ears burning.

“But you make an interesting point,” he heard Castiel say. “You’re so indignant. So comically uncomfortable.”

Dean met his gaze again. “Hey man, your place, your rules. I’m not judging.”

“Yes you are,” Castiel said. “And so are the people of this town. I’m the lunatic, miscreant, billionaire playboy who blew into town and am dragging you all into Hades.”

“We don’t use that many words. We’re more like, “that guy, he’s weird.””

Castiel didn’t seem to be listening. “Do you really think this town is worth saving?”

Dean dropped the smirk. “Yes.”

“Prove it.”

“What?”

“Live with me,” Castiel said. “For... six months. See what the citizens of Lawrence think of you after you’ve been shacked up with the devil incarnate, sinning our brains out. Then, if you still think they’re worth it, I’ll fix your coal mine.”

Dean felt ice running through his veins. He managed to stutter, “I thought you said we didn’t - you wouldn’t - “

“Oh, I wouldn’t actually extort you into sleeping with me,” Castiel said, “although of course if you changed your mind I’d be happy to oblige.”

He frowned. “I don’t get it.”

“That’s my price,” Castiel said. “Live with me for six months - and of course, you can’t tell anyone why you’re doing it - you don’t have to pretend we’re sleeping together, but you must let them draw their own conclusions - and I’ll find enough money to sink into the mine that all of the safety measures will be top-notch.”

Dean couldn’t decide if he was relieved or infuriated. He shook his head slowly, unable to tear his eyes from the languidly crazed look on Castiel’s face. “Is this all some game to you?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “But don’t feel bad, everything’s a game.”

“You’re one soulless bastard.”

“That’s what I thought,” Castiel said, turning on his heel. “Have a pleasant day, Mr. Winchester.”

Dean’s panic, fear, confusion, and disgust welled up in his throat and came out as a barked, “Wait.”

Castiel stopped in the doorframe and looked over his shoulder slowly, his face all pallid skin and stark shadows.

“One month.”

“Three.”

“Then you gotta start fixing the mine right away.”

Castiel took a few steps back into the room. “If I did that, what would keep you from leaving, breaking your end of the deal?”

“You could still pull your investment out at any time,” Dean said. “Place isn’t gonna get fixed overnight, right?”

Castiel nodded slowly, and crossed his arms. “Fine. But then I want something more.”

Dean winced. “What?”

Castiel walked toward him slowly. “You really don’t think the townspeople will turn on you, do you?”

“No.”

Castiel stopped a foot away from him. “You’re so sure of them. But how sure are you of yourself?”

Dean frowned, but his heart gave an uncomfortable thump. “Dude, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you even realize how often you’ve been staring at my lips?”

Dean sputtered and took a half-step backward. “No I haven’t!”

Castiel didn’t laugh. He said, “I want a kiss.”

“What, now?” Dean asked, incredulous.

“No. Once a day,” Castiel said. “You’ll live with me for three months and let your friends and family think the worst. _And_ you’ll let me kiss you, once a day, whenever I want. You can say stop at any time and I will, and I won’t touch you again until the next day. That’s what I want.”

Dean slowly became aware that his mouth was hanging open, and shut his jaw with a _click_. “Okay, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but if I agree to do this, are you going to chop me up and bury me under the floorboards?”

Castiel laughed. “No. I prefer to pull people apart in other ways.”

“You’re definitely nuts if you think there’s a chance in hell I’d want to kiss you.”

“Then it will be a mild annoyance and nothing more,” Castiel smirked. “Surely not too high a price to pay to save your precious mine.”

“No,” Dean heard himself saying, then decided that he was right. Three months living in an - okay, disgusting cesspool, but fancy disgusting cesspool - and delivering daily smackdowns to this poor bastard? And improvements at the mine start right away? “You’ve got a deal.”

Castiel smiled like the cat in the cream pot as he extended his hand. Dean shook it, and wondered belatedly if the daily kiss thing would start now. “Um -”

“Don’t worry,” Castiel - hell, he was gonna live with the guy, _Cas_ \- said. “We can start the clock tomorrow. I’ll expect you with your things by tonight.”

“Yeah,” Dean said, the bits and pieces of his plan now dawning on him. He was going to have to _move_. Crap.

“And remember,” Cas said. “You can’t tell them why.”

And lying to Sammy and Dad. Awesome. Must be Tuesday.

He realized they were still shaking. Cas smirked at him again, and Dean dropped his hand like it was burning.

“Okay then,” Dean said. “See you tonight.”

Cas merely stared at him as he backed away slowly and left through the door he’d come in. He momentarily panicked as he realized he had no idea how to get back to Baby, before he saw the butler - Benny - casually leaning on the wall next to the door.

“Were you listening to that whole thing?” Dean asked.

“Mmmhm,” the guy said. “I’ll show you out.”

They retraced their earlier steps through dusty halls, past occasional glimpses of the remains of last night’s bender. When they finally reached the cavernous foyer, Dean felt a tap on his shoulder and turned. 

Benny was staring at him with his hands in his pockets. Dean raised his eyebrows after the silence started to linger. “You sure you know what you’re doing, brother?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Sure.”

Benny stared at him a moment more, then nodded. “I’ll make up a room for you,” he said, and faded back into the shadows of the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean jerked Baby to a stop a bit too roughly and slammed the door when he came home. From the kitchen table he heard Dad say, “How’d it go?”

He turned and started when he saw Sammy there too, eyebrows raised. Crap, it was Sunday - he’d totally forgotten.

“Heya Sammy,” he said, then looked at Dad. “It, uh, went great.”

“What went great?” Sammy asked.

“Great,” Dad echoed.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “Beer?” He pulled three from the fridge without waiting for a reply and sat on the couch. He turned on the TV and flipped to the game, then turned to Sammy and Dad, who were watching him expectantly. “You guys coming?”

 _Not Talking About It_ might as well be on the Winchester family crest, so Sammy and Dad came over without any complaints. Dean settled in for a familiar afternoon of family and football, trying to pretend everything was normal and hoard the experience at the same time. 

When they were putting away the dishes from dinner, he could feel Sammy formulating the best plan of attack, so he pivoted away from the sink and said, “I just gotta, um, check something in my room real quick.” And fled.

He shut the door behind him and glanced around his room. Truthfully, he wouldn’t miss it much - they’d only been in this particular place a year or so, and of his many, many temporary homes, it didn’t rate terribly high. Still, the thought of leaving filled him with chilly nausea, and he wished foolishly he’d bargained for less time there, or a week here before he had to go - something.

He shook himself and began to take a quick inventory - obviously he’d need his clothes, and he should probably bring some records and some books too, just so he wouldn’t go totally out of his mind over the next few months. He had his duffel out from under his bed before the first knock came.

“Yeah,” he said. Sammy poked his head in.

“What’s up, Dean, where’d you -” he paused when he saw Dean packing.

“Yeah, Sammy, I, uh - well, doesn’t affect you or nothing, but I’m actually moving out for a bit.”

“You’re moving,” Sammy said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. Vonnegut, check. Zeppelin, check.

“You’re moving away from Dad,” Sammy said. Dean turned to look at him. He had this delicate expression on his face like he thought if he made any sudden movements Dean might burst into tears. He scowled.

“No, jackass, not like that,” Dean said. “I got a - I have a -”

He sighed as a vision of Castiel came back to him, saying _And remember_.

“I can’t really explain, Sammy,” he said. “Just - trust me, it’s fine.”

“Look, Dean,” Sammy said, closing the door gently. “Whatever he did, I’m sure - it’s you and Dad. You’ll get over it. Don’t do anything -”

“It’s not Dad!” Dean near-whined. “Christ, can’t a man do anything without it getting psychoanalyzed to death? Go spill your feelings on somebody else.”

“Okay, okay!” Sammy said, holding his hands up. Dean grabbed his duffel, yanked his door open, went into the bathroom and basically tipped half the sink into the bag, zipped it shut, and dropped it on the kitchen table.

“So Dad,” he said, “I - uh. I’m gonna be moving out for a bit. No big deal, I’ll still come around every day, see how you’re doing -”

“Woah, woah, son,” Dad said, eyes flickering over his shoulder to where Sam was and back. “I been saying for a while you should get your own place if you want one. You don’t have to worry about your old man. I want you to have your own life.”

Dean stared at his shoes and bit the inside of his cheek, hard.

“Isn’t this a bit sudden, though?” Dad said. “I mean, you’re leaving now?”

“Yeah, I, uh -” Dean rubbed his forehead. “I’m actually staying with a - I mean I’m not -” he huffed out a sharp breath. “I’m going to be staying at the mansion. The Bough.”

There was a loaded silence. “The Bough?” Sammy asked finally. “Like, the old place up on the hill?”

“The one the Davies boy just moved into again?” Dad said.

“Wait, the Davies are back?” Sam asked.

“Just the one,” Dad said, his eyes still on Dean. “Been a parade of young people coming and going into that house the last month or so. Boy seems like he’s enjoying spending that family money.”

He could hear Sammy shuffling his feet. “Dean, did you get a job, or... something?”

Dean felt his jaw twitch. “Look, guys, I can’t - I can’t explain. I just need you to trust me, okay?”

There was another long pause. Finally, Dean felt a hand on his shoulder. “Of course, Dean,” Sammy said. John stayed still, his dark eyes glinting.

“Of course, son,” he finally said.

Dean sighed roughly, and turned to clasp Sammy on the shoulder. “Don’t think this excuses you from family Sundays,” he said, pointing at him accusingly.

“Of course not, Dean,” Sammy said with a long-suffering sigh and just a hint of bitchface.

***

Dean pulled into the circular driveway in front of the Bough’s marble-columned entrance just as the sun was setting, but the heavy canopy of tree cover made it seem dark already. His boots crunched on the loose gravel as he walked over to the trunk. A shout made him pause.

“Pull around over this way,” Benny said, leaning out of a second story window to the left. Out of sight, Dean heard the mechanical rumbling of a garage door opening.

He drove forward, behind some hedges that partially concealed the entrance to the - holy mother of god, most _Batman_ garage Dean had ever seen in real life.

Smooth poured concrete made up every surface, and small recessed lights illuminated a handful of classic and luxury cars that could almost - but obviously, never quite - measure up to Baby. Dean parked in the nearest space and jumped out to take a closer look at a cream-colored classic Aston Martin.

“You’ll finally have some other nice cars to talk to, Baby,” he murmured, running a fingertip along the smooth paint job. He straightened and pointed to a Tesla in the corner. “Don’t you get any ideas.”

“Wow,” he heard Benny say behind him. “You’ve got a screw loose, y’know that, brother?”

“Just ‘cause I can appreciate the finer things?” Dean asked, hefting his bags out of the trunk.

Benny rolled his eyes. “You’ll fit right in,” he said, and set off up the stairs.

Dean followed, and recognized the back of the foyer when they reached the main level. Benny took him further into the house through narrow hallways without windows, ‘til they reached a row of doors. Benny opened the first one.

The room was taller than it was wide - not actually uncomfortable-looking, and it had clearly been cleaned recently. A twin bed with fresh sheets was flush with the wall, a miniature desk was shoved into one corner, and there was a circular window with a view of some shrubs.

“Uh, seriously?” Dean asked.

“What?”

“Well, I’m no snob,” Dean said, “but Rose Dewitt Bukater is snorting caviar in the master suite, and you stick me in steerage?”

“Do I want to know what you mean?”

“C’mon,” Dean said, grabbing his bags and shoving past Benny.

“Now hold on -” the man said, but Dean ignored him, winding his way back to the foyer and then up two flights.

Skylights flooded the landing with soft dusk light. Dean opened three doors before he found a room, not too much bigger than the one Benny had picked out, with faded green wallpaper and a large window that looked out on miles of rolling lawn and a young cherry tree.

“I’ll take it,” he announced, dropping his bag on the bed.

“But-”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean it up, I don’t need any butlering,” he said, stripping his jacket off. He looked at Benny’s face.

“What,” he said. “Am I not _allowed_ up here?”

“No,” a voice rasped from around the corner, and Benny and Dean both stiffened. Cas shuffled into view, looking somehow smaller in the darkness. “He was trying to keep you away from me.”

Dean frowned. “Away from -”

“Mine’s just next door,” Cas smiled. Dean glanced over at the door in the wall beside his new bed.

He sighed. “Well, I made this deal knowing full well what a creep you are, Cas,” Dean said. “I guess that ship’s sailed.” He began unpacking his vinyl.

Benny left without a word, while Cas continued to watch him unpack. Dean made it another three minutes before he said, “Seriously, Cas, with the staring?”

“I thought the ship had sailed on my creepiness quotient.”

Dean rummaged around in his bag before he found what he was looking for, and brought the calendar over to a small table by the entrance to the room. He pulled a pen out of his pocket, stuck it between his teeth, and began to flip forward.

“So let’s see, it’s the 27th - so in one, two, three -” He took the pen and hovered over the page.

“Hang on,” Cas said. “Your last day is the 28th.”

“How do you figure?”

“We said the clock wouldn’t start tonight,” Cas said.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Dean asked. “Had to tell my old man and my brother that I was leaving.”

“Oh?” Cas asked. “How’d it go?”

“I didn’t tell them what was going on, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dean said.

Cas smirked. “Did they have their suspicions?”

Dean narrowed his eyes and circled the 27th on the calendar. “Three months minus one day.”

“Then I get my first kiss tonight,” Cas said.

“Fine,” Dean snapped.

“Fine,” Cas said.

They stared at each other as the silence drew out. Finally Dean barked, “Get on with it!”

“What would be the fun in that?” Cas asked. “I have four more hours in the day.”

Dean glared at him. “It went without saying that I have to be _conscious_ at the time, right?”

Cas quirked his lip, then said, “Well, if you’re _that_ eager...”

Dean blinked and braced himself as Cas stepped forward and slowly swayed into his personal space. He jolted when he felt Cas’s hand slip into his and lift it to his face. Keeping his eyes locked on Dean’s, Cas dropped a quick kiss on the back of Dean’s hand, just under his knuckles, and then dropped it.

“Wow,” Dean said. “My knees are weak.”

“Just easing you into it, Princess,” Cas said, and vanished.

Dean glanced down at his hand. The skin didn’t even tingle. This was going to be easy.

***

The sun hit Cas’s eyelids like a brick to the head.

“It’s today, Benny,” he told the room. “It’s definitely today.”

When Benny refused to indulge him with a reply, he sat up and stretched. Benny was laying a fresh shirt over a pair of ironed slacks, and rummaging around in the closet for shoes.

"Shoes?" Cas asked. "Is the Queen of England calling?

"Don't you want to look nice for _Dean_?" Benny asked.

Cas narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not entirely sure whose side you're on in all this, Benny."

The butler maintained his poker face. Cas scowled. "Just bring me some water. And aspirin."

He was definitely going to have to dry out over the next few months - or at least, ease up a bit. Just enough for him to stay focused - he was, after all, going to need to be able to discuss coal mining without falling asleep; plus, he had a feeling Dean wouldn't be attracted to a sloppy mess of either gender. It would be worth it - their little banter the evening before had been much more entertaining than anything he could get from a bottle. That, and the look on Dean’s face as he had received his first “kiss”.

Dean was so stubborn and strong; barging in here to demand his help, defending the townspeople, clearly carrying the weight of the world for his father. But he was stubborn about himself as well - so cocky, aloof, sarcastic, refusing to admit what it meant that his gorgeous green eyes had darkened last night when Cas had leaned in, and flickered down, once more, to his lips.

It wouldn’t be the first "straight" boy Cas had seduced, but it was the first without the heady influences of boarding school and college. He had to play his cards right.

When he was dressed he stepped into the hallway, and noticed that the door to Dean’s new room was ajar. Unable to quench his curiosity, and not trying particularly hard, he edged the door open slowly and peered inside.

Dean was asleep over the covers, fully dressed, slack-mouthed and drooling. Cas’s chest gave an utterly absurd little clench at the sight - he looked entirely too much like a napping puppy. It was ridiculous. Cas drew closer.

Dean’s eyelashes fluttered against his freckled cheeks as he dreamt. The man was absolutely stunning, and Cas took a moment to just stare in appreciation. Then Dean’s eyebrows twitched together, and he sucked in a shallow breath. His face trembled, and Cas realized he was having a nightmare. Sighing, Cas grabbed his shoulder and gave him a firm shake.

“Whuh-” Dean garbled, blinking.

“You were having a nightmare,” Cas supplied.

Dean squinted, then frowned. “Were you watching me sleep?”

“No,” Cas said. “You, uh, shouted.”

Dean eyed him suspiciously but said nothing. “There’s breakfast downstairs,” Cas said. “Benny puts something out every morning. Would you like to join me?”

“In a minute,” Dean said, knuckling his inner eyes. “God, I feel like crap. What time is it?”

“Around 11.”

“Ugh,” Dean said. “My shift starts soon. I can’t believe I slept in so late. I was up late last night dusting this place off...”

Belatedly, Cas realized that the room did look substantially cleaner and more organized. The records were stacked neatly, books all in a row on a shelf over the bed, and a small, yellowed picture had been tipped up against the lamp on the desk. It seemed to depict a blonde woman and brown-haired child. Cas opened his mouth to ask about it. Then he thought of his own parents, and shut it.

“You hoping to watch me change, pal?” He heard Dean saying behind him, and turned to see him staring at Cas amusedly.

“No,” Cas said. “The room looks great. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Cas was most of the way through his heaping portion of hangover cure when Dean arrived, clad in a plaid shirt and black t-shirt that was almost but not quite indistinguishable from yesterday’s pair. He started when he saw the mountain of fruit, pastry, and breakfast starches on the side table.

“Woah,” he said. “You have this every morning?”

“I think Benny and Andrea are trying to impress you,” Cas said dryly over his coffee mug.

Dean shrugged and started piling up a plate. “Well, at least this thing’ll have some perks.”

“You wound me,” Cas replied as Dean took the seat across from him.

“So,” Cas said. “You’re here, in my hedonistic clutches, and you’ve succumbed to my first kiss-” Dean glared awkwardly with his cheeks stuffed like a chipmunk’s, his cheekbones tinged pink. “Time for me to hold up my end of the bargain, yes?”

Dean swallowed and nodded. “I was thinking you could tour the mine. See it for yourself.”

“Eventually,” Cas agreed. “But if you’re getting resistance from one of my parents’ hires, I can’t just come in guns blazing. I need to learn more.”

Dean frowned. “Like what?”

“Like the specific safety hazards, and the best ways to fix them. What the latest technology is, and the rate of incidents at most comparable mines. I’ll certainly need to know how the mine’s doing financially, get a look at its books, look at the landscape of the mining industry nationally -”

“Woah there, rain man,” Dean said. “That’s a lot. I thought improvements were going to start immediately?”

“This is an improvement,” Cas said. “Someone in a position to help is taking an interest in the mine from the perspective of the workers’ safety. How can I fix anything if I don’t understand it?”

Dean leaned back in his chair. “Fair enough. But I don’t have all that info.” Cas scowled. “But I might know someone who does.”

***

Downtown Lawrence was disappointingly average, but Cas longed for its quiet charm when they approached the mausoleum of twisted metal that comprised Singer Auto Salvage. The ground was cold, dead, and foreboding, and the sign spanning the driveway looked like something from a cemetery.

“What is this place?” He asked.

“For one thing, it’s my job,” Dean said.

Cas turned to look at him as he parked the car. “Your job?”

“Well, yeah, Cas. What did you think I do all day?”

Cas glanced around. “You’re a mechanic.”

“Yup,” Dean said.

Cas looked Dean up and down from beneath his eyelashes, and pitched his voice lower. “I could cover your living costs.”

Dean rolled his eyes and got out of the car, Cas scrambling to follow. “Yeah, I’m not really much for being a kept boy.”

“A kept what?” Asked a dry voice from across the yard. Dean startled and turned toward the middle-aged man who was approaching them.

“Bobby!” He said. “Just the man we need.”

“Uh huh,” Bobby said, eyeing Cas skeptically. “Who’s this?”

“This is Cas Davies, from, uh -”

“The Davies?” Bobby asked dryly. Cas felt a smile brimming against his will.

“Right,” Dean said, and turned to Cas. “Cas, my boss, Bobby Singer.”

Cas rounded the car and extended a hand. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Singer.”

Singer peered at him steadily without saying a word in reply. Cas had never seen someone in a baseball cap look so intimidating. He dropped his hand.

“Bobby,” Dean said. “Cas was asking me what I know about Little Branch, and I told him-”

“That you’re an idjit?” Bobby finished. He looked back at Cas and seemed to come to a decision, tossing his head back to the cottage in the center of the yard. “Come with me, boy. I’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

Cas caught Dean huffing a little sigh of relief out of the corner of his eye.

***

Two tune-ups and one oil change later, Dean headed into the main house to wash his hands (and check up on Bobby and Cas).

Jesus. Bobby had looked like he was going to turn on the laser eyebeams and melt Cas this morning. Had word of Dean’s move spread so quickly? No, Bobby was just always like that. Especially with a snooty rich kid like Cas. It was fine.

Drying his hands with a ratty old towel, he searched the house until he found them in Bobby’s study, hunched around a table covered in papers and reports.

“If the mine’s really that bad,” Cas was saying, “shouldn’t the government be doing something?”

Bobby laughed. “They’re all in deep with, uh -”

“With my family,” Cas nodded, sighing. “Or someone who works for them.”

Bobby nodded and took a swig from the flask on his desk. Cas propped his forehead up on his hands, his fuzzy hair going askew. His next words were low: “You realize the easiest solution could be to just shut it down.”

“No, you can’t do that,” Dean said. Cas’s head snapped up.

“Dean,” he said.

Dean came up to the table. “You can’t shut the mine down. My dad - we’re hard workers, and a lot of folks in town work at the mine. They can’t lose that paycheck, not in this economy. We just want it to be safe.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said. “I’m just trying to marshall myself against the counter-arguments we’re going to hear. Every form of workplace safety standard has always been met with complaints about profitability.”

“Oh,” Dean said. Cas smiled slightly.

“Why don’t you grab some lunch, son?” Bobby said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “That’s a good idea.”

He turned to fix himself a sandwich. Behind him he heard Cas ask, “I’ve been meaning to ask, Mr. Singer - you don’t work at the mine. How did you come to be such an expert?”

“Well, this one’s Daddy works at the mine, and he’s been my friend ‘nigh on 20 years. Plus Rufus, who’s more a pain in my ass than a friend. Bill Harvelle, Tommy Mills - like Dean said, a lotta folk in town work there. Just because I got my own shop don’t mean I can’t take an interest.”

“Yeah, and you’re a nosy old bastard,” Dean threw over his shoulder.

“I don’t see you complainin’” Bobby replied. Dean grinned and brought his sandwich over to the table. Cas grimaced and pulled a thick stack of papers out from under Dean’s plate before he could get them dirty.

Dean stared at Cas as Cas studied the reports, and tried to put a finger on why he felt so off-balance with the guy. Already Cas was more sober than he’d been for the entirety of their acquaintance; and he was actually dressed like a human being, not a hobo. The nice clothes made him seem younger, more alive, more solid. It was also odd to watch him staring at the information in front of him, laser-focused, soaking it in like a sponge, when just yesterday he’d barely been able to keep up with the thread of their conversation.

Cas himself was something of a walking contradiction, really - for someone so loaded, and with an admittedly gigantic house, he didn’t really seem to _spend_ much of his money. Okay, yes, there were the servants, and the drugs and booze and the strippers slash possibly hookers - but didn’t guys with Cas’s money usually buy yachts and bling and European microstates and shit like that?

And then there was Cas the person. He seemed so small sometimes - not really, because Dean remembered (uncomfortably) from the night before that he was almost Dean’s height. But there was something so birdlike and almost delicate about him - and yet that voice -

“You gonna eat that, son?” Bobby asked. Dean started, then flipped him off, and dug into his sandwich.

“I’m pretty much done here, Dean,” Cas said, oblivious to the two of them. He looked up at Bobby. “Can I take some of these home for further study?”

“Course,” Bobby said. “Just gimme a minute to make a copy of that one there.”

He grabbed a page and hefted himself up from the table and into the other room. Cas turned to Dean. “Are you ready to leave?”

“Leave?” Dean asked around a mouthful of sandwich. “I just got here, man, I got another five hours in my shift.”

Cas pouted. Actually pouted. Dean started to say, “I guess I could -”

“Need a ride, Cas?” Bobby asked, poking his head around a corner.

Dean sputtered. “Uh, no, he’s -”

“You don’t mind, Mr. Singer?” Cas asked. Dean tried to kick him under the table, but stubbed his toe instead.

“For a member of the illustrious Davies clan? Anything,” Bobby said, with a smile that Dean knew too well.

“It’s fine, Bobby,” he tried. “I’ll just give him a ride and then swing back -”

“Did I give you permission to leave work in the middle of the day?” Bobby asked. Dean glared at him. As if he’d ever needed permission to run errands before.

Bobby turned to Cas. “Come ‘round back.”

Cas turned to Dean and smiled. “See you at home.” His smile turned into a smirk. “Hmm, _our_ home. Sounds nice, doesn’t it?”

Dean dropped his forehead to the table. The world was conspiring against him.

***

Dean returned - ugh - _home_ , at sunset for the second day in a row. Admittedly, the Bough was beautiful from the outside - all warm red brick and creeping ivy, rippling windows, slate-gray columns, and hemmed in by thick, deep green trees. It was overgrown, unassuming, old but elegant.

He made his way to his room for a quick shower. Okay, this was another perk - the sparklingly modern, glass-enclosed, moan-worthy-water-pressure shower. De-dust-and-grime-ing it had been the lion’s share of his work the night before. Oh, was it worth it.

As he let the hot water pound out the ache of a day’s work, he thought about how tonight might shape up. He assumed Cas would want to eat dinner together - he seemed to want to keep him around while he was home. Probably part of his big scheme, to -

Dean shivered. When he outright thought about it, it was absurd. A trust fund kid was paying him to stay in his house, and be the target of his... weird _advances_ , in order to help the mine. It was something out of Bobby’s soaps he swore he didn’t watch.

Okay, usually, yes, Dean liked being pursued. He let the pursuing happen, at bars, at the garage, hell, anywhere. He liked frisky women who knew what they wanted. He was happy to be the mouse to their - heh.

But this - Dean fidgeted at the thought of it. The first kiss? Easy, fine, no problem. _Easing him into it_. Yeah, right - guy probably just realized what a colossal failure it would have been if he had tried anything more.

But eventually he would, right? Dean panicked at the thought that maybe once Cas realized how futile the whole thing was he’d just back out of the deal entirely, leaving the mine and Dad to rot.

He shook himself. Cas seemed like a fair guy, overall. When things went south with this whole “seduce Dean” nonsense, he’d keep up his end of the deal. He... he trusted him.

He thought maybe he should try to visualize what the second kiss - the first real one - would be like, to prepare himself. Did guys’ lips feel different? Maybe they were rougher. Because of beards? Cas’s lips didn’t look particularly rough. His hair looked downright soft.

Dean shook himself again. Better to just think of it as little as possible.

There was a knock on his door just as Dean was pulling a fresh shirt on. “Come in,” he answered.

Cas came in and paused for a moment, staring at Dean. He waited. “What?”

Cas blinked and looked up at him. “Benny made dinner. Are you hungry?”

“Yup,” Dean said, giving his hair one last vigorous toweling. “Let’s do it.”

As they walked down the stairs together, Dean said, “So. Learned a lot today, huh?” 

“Yes,” Cas answered emphatically. “Bobby’s a true research expert. I may go back tomorrow to pick up some more information I didn’t realize I needed until I finished what he gave me today.”

“Uh huh,” Dean said. “How was your ride back this afternoon?”

“Hm?” Cas asked, as they reached the dining room.

“Bobby,” Dean said, taking a seat at the absurdly long table. “Did he - did you - was -”

Cas’s face was a picture of innocent confusion. Dean sighed. “Nevermind. What’s for dinner?”

Benny emerged from the kitchen carrying a serving platter under one of those honest-to-goodness silver dome things. He set it between their place settings and took the dome off. “Lamb with mint jelly,” he announced.

Dean grimaced. It looked fine, but... really?

Benny started walking back to the kitchen, and Dean counted the settings at the table. “Hold up. You don’t eat with us?”

Benny seemed confused. “Uh, no.”

Dean looked at Cas, who made a _whatever_ gesture with his palms. “C’mon, man, no need to be all Downton Abbey.”

Benny and Cas both frowned. Benny said, “Only enough lamb for two.”

Now Dean was confused. “Then what are you eating?”

Benny looked guilty. “I’m grilling up some burgers back here.”

Dean’s stomach gave a pronounced growl. “... how many you got?”

It wasn’t too much fuss to move the plates and silverware back to the much cozier and more reasonably-sized kitchen table, and before long they were all digging into Benny’s fantastic burgers.

“This is what I’m talking about,” Dean said, mouth, as usual, full. “Cas, why do you eat that fancy crap when Benny here’s a certified genius?”

Cas moaned around his mouthful. Dean shifted uncomfortably. “I have no idea,” he replied.

Benny grinned slightly. “You want burgers every night from now on?”

“How about whatever you’re eating from now on,” Cas replied. “Where’s Andrea?”

“Out with the girls,” Benny said.

“Invite her too,” Cas said, swallowing. “We should eat in here all the time. That dining room is morbid.”

“Fine by me,” Dean said. “Damn, Cas, slow down. You choke to death and the mine gets nothing.”

“Sorry,” Cas said. “I’ve never had anything this good before.”

Benny smiled. Dean joked, “Your first burger?"

Castiel blushed. Actually _blushed_.

Dean dropped his burger. “You’re kidding.”

“Really?” Benny asked.

“It was all _lamb with mint jelly_ growing up,” Cas said, and Dean felt a faint pang, “and college was mostly ramen and pizza.”

Dean shook his head. “Welcome to the real world, buddy,” he said, taking another huge bite. “It’s cheap and easy.”

At that, Cas gave him a sidelong glance. Dean choked slightly and Benny slapped him on the back, grinning.

“So Cas,” he coughed out. “Tell us what needs fixing at the mine.”

Cas frowned. “A lot, unfortunately.” They discussed the scope of the problems through burgers and ice cream, which Dean cheerfully ate out of the cardboard tub, despite Benny’s disapproval. But it seemed Cas was right - he had only scratched the surface today, and would need more time and research before he’d be able to come up with potential solutions.

“And that’s before we even get to the question of how we implement anything, since I’m not _actually_ the owner of the mine,” Cas said.

“It’s that fucker Zach,” Dean said. “I’ve met him a few times. Real piece of work. He’s got no problem sending miners into tunnels about to cave, or where there’s poison, or not enough air.”

Cas shook his head as Benny cleared up the plates. “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean sat back in his chair, disgusted. “Yeah, well.” He glanced up at Cas. “That’s why I’ve got you on the case, right?”

Cas smiled faintly. “So,” he said. “You never did tell me how your family took the news of your move.”

Dean ran a finger along the tabletop, digging in with his nail. “Fine. I just told them I couldn’t tell them anything and to trust me.”

“And they went along with that?”

Dean laughed. “We’re not really a twenty questions kind of family.”

“Even though you’re shacking up with the town nutjob?”

“Your reputation must not be as bad as you think it is,” Dean said. Cas raised an eyebrow, but let it drop.

“You said it was you, your Dad, and your brother?” He asked.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean smiled. “Real smart kid. KU. Thinks he wants to go to law school.”

“That’s great,” Cas said.

“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “First Winchester to really make something of himself.”

Cas’s small smile dipped. “It won’t be making something to save Little Branch?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “That’ll be you, not me. If it comes through.”

Cas tilted his head. “Only because you barged in here and made it happen.”

Dean snorted. “ _Made it happen._ Only by agreeing to live here, and...”

He trailed off. He realized, belatedly, that they were alone in the room. When had Benny left?

Cas’s eyes were locked on him. Dean scuffed his feet uncomfortably and decided to power through it. He stood quickly.

“Well, thanks for the great dinner,” he said. “Or, uh, tell Benny thanks, I guess. See you tomorrow.” He turned.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Cas drawled from behind him. Dean winced.

He turned around again. “No, but I was hoping you had.”

Cas laughed softly. “Come here."

Dean walked back slowly, waiting for Cas to stand, and - grab him? Touch him? Do something?

Cas stayed seated. Dean stopped about a foot away. Those blue eyes were boring into his, unwavering. Dean waited, the anticipation a buzzing under his skin that he couldn’t stop.

“You’re very handsome,” Cas said. Dean stared at him. It was strange to hear - he was used to “hot”, from girls mostly, and “pretty boy” from everyone else. Even though he knew it was shallow, the way Cas looked at him - it was like he was complimenting the deepest layer of his skin, the plaque on his joints, the grooves in his bones.

“Is it too much to hope for another kiss on the back of the hand?” He tried to joke.

Holding his stare, Cas slipped his hand into one of Dean’s again, and for a dizzying second, Dean thought it had worked.

Then Cas turned his hand over, running his fingertips along the tendons and knuckles on the back, and brought Dean’s palm up to his mouth in a feather-soft kiss.

Dean barely bit back a gasp. It was soft, alright, and hot, and soothing. Cas’s lips moved slowly in lush, formless kisses down Dean’s palm to the very top of his wrist. His breath rushed out, hot and moist, tickling the sensitive skin. Dean thought he could feel the very tip of his tongue brushing gently. Involuntarily his fingers twitched forward, dragging on the harsh stubble of Cas’s cheek.

Cas made a small sound, maybe even just a loud breath, and dragged his lips back over Dean’s palm to the base of his pinky finger, kissing upwards. He felt a very slow, delicate bite into the tip of his pinky, then the swirl of Cas’s tongue again.

Dean realized he was shaking. “How long is a single kiss, dude?” He asked, voice - mostly - calm. Definitely only slightly hoarse.

“However long you want,” Cas murmured, now pressing kisses into the base of Dean’s thumb, which always ached after a long shift at the garage. “It’s over as soon as one of us decides it’s over.”

Dean’s heart was pounding. He yanked his hand away. It did not feel cold. “It’s over,” he said.

Cas stared up at him sedately. He seemed completely unaffected, except maybe for a small bloom of color visible on his chest above his collar. “Okay. Sleep well, Dean,” he said.

Dean blinked at him. Then he turned and near-sprinted to his room.

When he had the door firmly shut behind him he let out a shaky breath and stared at his hand. What the actual fuck?

His thoughts were racing. Nothing made sense. He should go down there and tell Cas - tell him what? Why did he want to go back down there? To tell him he was leaving?

And abandon his Dad, and the mine, and the town. _Fuck_.

It was fine. Cas had just kinda surprised him with the palm thing, it was undeniably - pleasant, but it was fine. He had just underestimated his opponent.

It didn’t _mean_ anything. Any girl could have done the same thing and it would have felt nice. It was - hands aren’t an erogenous zone. Friends hold hands. It was the equivalent of a back rub. Dudes give their friends back rubs.

Dean sighed and let his head thunk back against the door. It was going to be a long three months.

***

Cas sat in the kitchen rubbing his lips and contemplating his next move.

The good news was that Dean was more receptive than he’d hoped. The bad news was that now that he’d realized it, he was likely to pull back, become much more withdrawn, and make Cas’s job that much harder.

Cas sighed and tried to ignore his impatience below the belt. For a second there, Dean had been quiet and warm and willing. Too bad he had literally been at arm’s length, too far for Cas to properly enjoy it.

The thought of what he might eventually be able to coax Dean into enjoying was heady. He wanted to be the one to teach Dean that that side of himself wasn’t anything to be ashamed of. And he wanted, dammit, to do it tonight.

It was going to be a long three months.


	3. Chapter 3

Cas swam to consciousness for the first time in a long time not battling dehydration and a rebelling gastrointestinal tract, but instead from pleasant dreams of tanned skin and green eyes.

He smiled into the sheets. He wondered how Dean would play things today - stiff, awkward, angry, aloof? The fact that he didn’t know was exhilarating. This game had been an excellent idea.

Cas sat up, cracked his spine, and noted that he seemed to have woken up early enough to avoid Benny’s customary assault. He padded into the hallway in fresh clothes and socks. The door to Dean’s room was once again ajar, but he didn’t peek in. No need to be a sore winner.

But when he had finished breakfast and his new roommate still hadn’t appeared, he flagged down Andrea as she was clearing the plates. “No Dean this morning?”

She blushed. She did that a lot. “No sir. He left early - ‘round 6 AM.”

Cas raised his eyebrows but said nothing. He finished browsing through and organizing the paperwork Bobby had given him, then called the man himself.

“I think I’ll need a more detailed map of the tunnels,” he said. 

“I’ll do you one better,” Singer replied. “I got a buddy going down in a few hours. You want that behind-the-scenes tour you were talking about?”

***

Cas wasn’t sure what he had been expecting - something quaint, maybe, kind of like Thunder Mountain (not that Cas had ever been to Disneyland, but he’d seen photographs). Instead, when Benny passed the sign for Little Branch and crested the top of the hill, the scene was like the crater left after an atomic bomb had gone off. No trees, no grass, no colorful orange stone. It was a bleak gray pit, massive in size, sloping gently downward to a collection of squat gray buildings, and a long, dull yellow tube that started near the periphery of the pit and canted downward to the center, disappearing into the earth. 

As they drew closer Cas began to make out details - the handful of trucks and carts scattered around the pit, looking like children’s toys in the scope of the place; the layering of thick, rusted metal mesh covering the entry tunnel; the deep, dusty fissures in the soil, like an unnatural desert. The few workers who were milling about gave them odd looks as they approached. Cas was relieved he’d thought of taking Benny’s car; something told him the Mercedes would not have fit in here.

An impressively scowling black man was waiting for them at the nadir of the pit, dressed in the typical miner’s gear of a blue jumpsuit with shiny orange safety badges. When Cas climbed out of the car, the man said, “Davies?”

“Rufus?” Cas asked, extending his hand. Rufus took it in a bruising grip. “Thank you for agreeing to show me around.”

Rufus was not impressed. “I owe Bobby for that thing with his cat,” he said. 

Cas deemed it best not to ask. “Well, I appreciate it.”

Rufus lead Cas inside and rummaged around in a locker for another jumpsuit for Cas to wear. As Cas was changing, Rufus said, “Normally, to go down, we gotta give newcomers all kinds of safety training and equipment, but you don’t need any of that shit, right?”

Cas zipped up his suit. “...what kind of safety training?”

“I thought so,” Rufus said. “Here’s your headlamp.” He handed Cas a helmet and grabbed one for himself.

Back outside, several miners were getting onto a long, squat vehicle with open sides - like an elongated golf cart. “You ever been on a mantrip?” Rufus asked as they took seats.

“I’ve been to a _club_ called Man Trip,” Cas replied.

Rufus raised an eyebrow. “Sorry,” Cas muttered to the floor. 

The mantrip lurched forward and down into the tunnel. As the air rushed by, Cas asked, “How long have you been working here?”

“Four years,” Rufus replied. “At another Blankenship mine in Oklahoma before that.”

“Do you think it’s safe?”

Rufus snorted. “Is pigs’ foot kosher?”

The mantrip gradually came to a stop at the base of the tunnel, where an elevator was waiting. It too was open to the air, though only in gaps along the sides where the panels of greenish-white metal didn’t quite meet. Once the miners had all filed in it started lowering, rattlingly. Cas mentally composed a joke about there being only one stop, then took in the gray, grizzled faces of the men around him, and swallowed it.

The cage eventually jerked to a stop and the men filed out. Rufus flicked Cas’s headlamp on for him. He stepped out into the mine.

It was black. Impossibly, unbelievably dark. Cas had been deep underground before, in trains and tunnels. But those were brightly lit, tightly sealed, polished places designed to be seen by people with money, people in a rush, people who wouldn’t be staying long.

This was raw. The walls were obsidian black, shiny and bulbous. The ceiling hung low - a delightful reminder that they were standing under millions of pounds of packed dirt. But in every direction out from the elevator the gloom stretched on, interrupted only by the occasional lantern, which didn’t seem to illuminate anything, as much as meekly announce their presence in the stifling dark. Cas had never been claustrophobic before. This seemed like a good time to start. 

“What do you think?” Rufus asked.

“It’s like Hell,” Cas replied.

He felt a pervading sense of _wrong_. They were standing in a crack in the earth that wasn’t meant to be here. “How deep are we?” He asked.

“‘Bout a thousand feet,” Rufus said. “C’mon.”

The miners were boarding another mantrip, and Cas hurried to follow. This one whisked them forward to where the active mining was being done. Every hundred feet or so they passed what looked like a hallway on either side. Even in the rush of air from the mantrip, the mine was hot and muggy. 

More lights appeared as they approached the active work zone, and Cas realized that the long trench that had appeared about fifty feet back was actually a part of the drill itself. He hopped off the mantrip as they drew level with the head.

“She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” Rufus asked. The trench was crowned by a massive drill, the size of a cow, made up of ten separate drills, broken down into smaller boring points. It looked like what coal was drilled was deposited backwards into the massive trench behind it. “A continuous miner,” Rufus explained. “Digs eight tons a minute.”

Cas raised a tentative hand to the smooth steel surface, brushing off a bit of black dust. “So you don’t use dynamite, or explosives?” He asked.

Rufus cocked an eyebrow at him. “Where there’s coal, there’s methane. Then there’s the coal dust, which floats everywhere and is one of the most explosive substances known to man. Doesn’t need to be dynamite. The machine nicks something, creates a spark, this whole place will go up, and you and I’ll be dead before they hear the _boom_ up top.”

Cas swallowed. “Great.”

“C’mon” Rufus said. “I’ll show you around.”

They walked to the corner of one of the hallways Cas had noticed earlier. “Now this,” Rufus said, “is a pillar.”

“A pillar?”

“We drill in ‘rooms’,” Rufus explained, “and leave ‘pillars’ in between to support the roof. It’s like a house, with rooms of open space, and walls of undrilled coal.”

Cas nodded. He was startled by a _pop_ coming off the wall to his right, and pressed his ear to it to be sure.

“Rufus,” he said. “Are these -”

“Snap, crackle, and popping?” Rufus said. “Yup. It’s the weight of the dirt above - makes the coal seam buckle.”

Cas shook his head. “So the pillars you’re relying on to keep this whole place from caving in -”

“Are literally cracking? Uh huh,” Rufus said. “But that’s not the best part.”

Cas dreaded the answer. “What is?”

“What do you think we drill when we reach the end of the coal seam?”

Cas blinked at him. “You’re joking.”

“They call it retreat mining,” Rufus said. “And word from HQ is we’re starting next month.”

“They make you drill into the pillars that are supporting the roof?” Cas asked. “That’s insane.”

“It’s coal,” Rufus said. “Which means it’s money.”

Cas shook his head. “Are all mines this dangerous?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Rufus said. “But Bobby says no.”

“I think Bobby’s right,” Cas said. “Okay. I’ve seen enough. Get me the hell out of here.”

***

By the time lunch rolled around, Dean was feeling thoroughly ridiculous for having - yeah, he could admit it - turned tail and run that morning.

Screwing a bolt into place, he mentally pictured what he _should_ have done: woken up on time, strolled down to breakfast, cool as a cucumber, chatted with Cas as if everything was fine - everything _was_ fine - and shown him just how _unconcerned_ Dean was with - well, everything.

But no. After a sleepless night he’d bolted for Bobby’s the second the sun had come up. Damn shift didn’t start until 10AM. He wiped his hands on a rag by Bobby’s back door. At least he was done with plenty of time to spare.

On the drive across town he contemplated what his next move should be. Clearly, he had to play it cool to make up for this morning. Definitely have dinner with Cas, maybe watch a game or something after - make it completely clear how _normal_ everything was. No fear or nervousness or anticipation whatsoever.

His palm tingled and he clenched it against the steering wheel in frustration. In what was becoming a pattern, he mentally catalogued everywhere on his body Cas could possibly kiss him today, and tried to picture it, while simultaneously picturing that moldy sandwich he’d accidentally bitten into when he was 9. Kiss on the hand - gross. Kiss on the cheek - gross. Kiss on the lips - definitely... just, gross. 

His entire body was tingling by the time he pulled up and grabbed the takeout boxes from the passenger seat. His Dad’s eyebrows shot up when he spotted him.

“Son?” He asked. “What’re you doing here?”

“Brought you lunch,” Dean said. “Finished early at Bobby’s.”

He swung a leg over the table and deposited the bags in front of Dad, who was still looking weird. “Oh,” he said. “Thought you might have come with...”

“With who?” Dean said, unwrapping a straw.

But John was looking over Dean’s shoulder, and when he turned, he realized why. A crew of miners were coming off one of the mantrips about fifty feet away, and among them was Cas.

He and Rufus were deep in conversation, Cas’s brow furrowed. He looked completely alien - hair all crushed from the helmet he held in his hand, in that ridiculous jumpsuit, absolutely covered in coal dust. For some reason it seemed commonplace on every man there ‘cept Cas.

As Dean watched him approach, Cas pulled the zipper down on his suit and shrugged out of the arms, revealing the bright white undershirt beneath. The coal dust stopped in sharp lines on his neck and wrists - like a tan line. The clean skin was startlingly bright and smooth. And as he got closer, the blue of his eyes seemed to glow against his coal-darkened skin.

Those eyes rose and met Dean’s.

Both men were stock still. “Uh, hi,” Dean finally managed.

“Yes,” Cas said. “I was - touring the mine.”

“Yup,” Dean nodded, and gestured vaguely behind him. “Lunch. With my Dad.”

Cas nodded. There was an awkward pause. “Well,” he said finally. “I need to go home and take a shower. See you tonight?”

The word _shower_ echoed around in Dean’s mind in search of something to connect with. Upon receiving no reply, Cas walked to the car where Dean just now noticed Benny waiting.

“Son?” he heard Dad ask, and he turned around. John was staring at him with a vague air of disappointment. “You didn’t want to introduce me?”

Dean scowled. “Eat your food.”

***

Okay, third time would definitely be the charm. Dean returned to the Bough absolutely convinced that _this_ time he would finally deploy his much-anticipated _being cool_ plan.

After he’d showered off the engine grease and his share of dust from the pit, he found Benny in the hallway with an armful of clothes.

“Hey man,” he said. “You got anything to do around here? I’m crawling the walls.”

It was true. He’d read all the books he’d brought before, obviously, and most of what he’d done since getting here was talk coal mining and play-act soap opera. Benny gave him a withering look over his laundry.

“You wanna help with the chores?”

“Sure,” Dean said, and followed him down to the laundry room. When the dirty clothes were in the washer Benny produced two sets of sheets and handed one to Dean.

“You wanna do Cas’s room, I’ll do yours?” He asked dryly.

“No, thank you,” Dean responded with dignity.

They met back out in the hallway minutes later. Dean glanced around the landing - there were fifteen, twenty doors in total. And judging by the size of his room and its placement in the building, it had to be one of the smallest on the floor.

“Benny,” he said, wandering over to the south side of the landing, where the biggest, most ornate set of doors was, “what’s through here?”

“Master suite,” Benny said. Dean frowned at the door handles. 

“How come Cas doesn’t stay in there?”

Benny shrugged minutely. Dean had a feeling there was more to it. He laid a hand on one of the handles.

“Don’t,” Benny said. Dean glanced over at him. After the silence stretched out a minute, he decided to let it drop.

“Y’know what we need?” He asked, walking back toward his room. “A TV.”

Benny tilted his head consideringly. “There’s a TV in the living room.”

“There’s a living room?” Dean asked. “It doesn’t have some weird fancy name? The Receiving Room? The Butler-ery?”

“That’s not a word,” Benny said. “Follow me.”

He led them back down to the ground floor, through the foyer, around a corner, and down some stairs to a room that was partially underground - probably the mirror image of the garage. The door stuck when he tried to open it, and eventually he had to throw his shoulder against it to thwack it open. It rattled a complaint as the two men took in the room.

“Ew,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Benny replied. “I think he spent one of his first nights here, and hasn’t come back since.”

It was reminiscent of the drawing room, except dustier and stickier with age. Some kind of party had clearly come through and then very pointedly _not_ been cleaned up. “Leaving it like this doesn’t bring dishonor on you as the help?” Dean asked.

Benny quirked an eyebrow. “You try keeping a house this size clean when he seems determined to trash every room in it. Best thing for me was when you showed up. Now instead of party, he just stares at your ass all day.”

Dean felt himself turning red, and clapped to end the moment. “Well, then, let’s clean it up.”

They spent the better part of the afternoon disposing of solo cups, bottles, indeterminate items of clothing, and what Dean hoped were pet toys, and then dusting and wiping the place down. The couch, however, was beyond repair - mystery liquids soaked through, rips and tears all over, and strangely shaped burn marks slathered along one side. Dean sighed.

“I don’t suppose you have another couch somewhere?”

“Mostly antique armchairs no one’s actually supposed to sit in,” Benny said. Dean grimaced. “But I think there might be a cover in the attic.”

The weirdest thing about the attic was how tidy it was - dusty, but neatly catalogued in clean rows. Dean supposed it was a symptom of the fact that this wasn’t a _real_ house - before Cas, the Davies hadn’t been here in decades, so there was no one here to collect the mixture of memories and junk that cluttered real attics. The house only existed so that they could say they had it. They probably had a mansion in every state.

Never one to turn down a good pry, Dean poked around, checking out books, weird little sculptures, and more miscellany. He bumped into something that came up to his waist and was under a burlap sheet, and uncovered it with a flourish.

It was a painting, a posed group of three - likely some of the Davies. On the left was a middle-aged man with silver-flecked black hair, wearing what looked to be an extremely expensive suit and a stern expression. To his right was a woman with neatly-pinned auburn hair in another expertly tailored suit. Sitting between them was -

Oh my god, it was _Cas_. Teenaged Cas, but definitely him. He looked... weird. His face hadn’t filled out yet, making him look even gawkier than usual. And his hair was too short, and were those _highlights_? Oh my god.

Still, in youth he looked healthy and... promising. Even though he was clearly miserable in the portrait. Why would someone _paint_ him that way? Ugh, rich people.

Dean grabbed it when Benny emerged with the couch cover. “What’re you doing?” He asked.

“Redecorating,” Dean replied. “Let’s go.”

The living room’s best feature was a massive TV hung in the middle of an entertainment center that took up the entire wall, though it showed only snow when they first turned it on. But after a few moments of tinkering in the back, Dean got Sports Center to show up, sat back on the newly-hygienic couch, and declared his work complete.

Benny had just fetched them both a beer and come back to the couch when they heard a “ _Hello?_ ” from the distance.

“In here!” he shouted.

Cas stumbled into the room. He was dressed normally, like the debauched rich asshole Dean was used to, as if today’s coal miner - or the skinny kid in the painting - had never even happened.

Cas was blinking, and did a double-take. “Wow,” he said. “The last time I was in here, there was... a giraffe.”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “If I have to live here for three months, I need a place to unwind, so can you trash some other rooms from now on?”

“Of course,” Cas said absently, taking in the huge, now-functional television, the repurposed couch, the flames dancing in the fireplace, and -

His gaze stopped. Dean felt a tingle of apprehension as Cas stared at the painting, propped up on the fireplace mantle. He didn’t move or speak, and his expression hadn’t changed.

“You like?” Dean said. “I, uh, found it in the attic.”

Cas took a few steps closer, but remained silent. “Is that your parents?” Dean asked.

Cas reached out a finger and touched the ornate brass frame of the painting, rubbing his finger down as if checking for dust. Then, hesitantly, he touched the painting itself, feeling the groove of the paint. He nodded to himself.

Then he grabbed the painting, ripped it out of the frame, and tossed it into the fire.

Dean realized he was standing, but he wasn’t sure what to do. Cas tossed the frame, still with tattered bits of canvass clinging to the edges, into a corner. He turned to Benny and Dean with a frighteningly calm expression.

“I think I’ll skip dinner tonight,” he said. “You two go on without me.”

And he left. 

***

After one of the more awkward dinners of Dean’s existence, he needed an escape. He took the stairs to his room at a run, knowing exactly what to do.

Once he’d found what he was looking for, he opened his door again and nearly had a heart attack when Cas was standing right there, hand poised.

“Sorry,” he said. “I was about to knock.”

“It’s fine,” Dean said, shaking his head. “What’s up, Cas?”

Cas cleared his throat and looked at the floor. “I wanted to apologize. For... earlier.” Dean opened his mouth, but Cas rushed on. “You did a wonderful job restoring the living room, and I destroyed your efforts. I’m sorry.”

“Dude, you didn’t destroy anything,” Dean said. “The place is fine. It’s my fault for... for bringing up bad memories, I’m guessing?”

Cas clenched his jaw but said nothing. Dean sighed and leaned against the doorframe. "So. You checked out the mine today?"

Cas's whole face tightened. "Yes," he said. "Have you ever been down there?"

Dean nodded. "A few times."

Cas was glaring at Dean, but his anger seemed directed elsewhere. "It's like descending into Hell. I'll definitely have my work cut out for me."

"Well, good," Dean said. "Get angry. It's long overdue."

Cas nodded, and then seemed to refocus his gaze on Dean. "I'm sorry," Cas said. "I interrupted you."

“It's no problem," Dean said. "I was just heading down to our new living room.” He gestured with his hand.

Cas glanced at the DVD and frowned. “Hm. I’ve never seen those.”

Dean felt his mouth fall open. “You’ve never seen _Star Wars_?”

The trip down to the living room was all interrogation and _they didn’t let us watch movies at boarding school, Dean_ , and _is this really necessary_ , and other sad crap like that. By the time Dean had the movie in and was rummaging for the right remote, he was asking, “Seriously? You don’t know anything about it?”

“I know they’re set in outer space and someone is someone’s father,” Cas said.

“Ugh,” Dean said, and hit play.

And a part of Dean knew, _remembered_ , that staring at Castiel for any length of time was probably not a good idea, but watching a movie he loved with someone who had never seen it before was one of life’s few pleasures, and he wanted to _see_ Cas’s face for all the good parts. Which was pretty much the entire movie, so there was a lot of staring.

Until Cas said, “If you’re that impatient for today’s kiss, you can just ask,” without looking away from the screen.

So Dean focused his attention squarely and intensely on the plight of Alderaan.

Forced were used, shots were fired, and Cas shifted in his seat. Dean suddenly felt a prickling on the back of his neck. He turned around and, sure enough, Cas had laid his arm out behind Dean’s shoulders on the couch back.

Dean side-eyed him. “Are you gonna sneeze and try to cop a feel?”

Cas said nothing and kept his eyes on the screen, but Dean could suddenly feel his fingertips gently rubbing the nape of Dean’s neck. It felt - 

“Is that a kiss?” Dean snapped. Cas’s fingers stopped and he turned to look at him. Dean maintained his glare. Cas removed his hand, but left his arm along the couch.

Dean turned back to the movie, internally fuming. Somewhere along the line with the painting and the mine and the uncomfortable glimpse into Cas’s past, he had forgotten that there was a bet - or a deal, or whatever - going on, and Dean was _losing_. 

And the only way to win? To let Cas get his stupid kisses _and nothing more_. To show him that his entire plan was futile.

So Dean deliberately relaxed deeper into the couch, feeling the heat of Cas’s arm all along his shoulders and neck. Cas inhaled a little deeply, but didn’t react otherwise. Dean forced his attention, once more, on the movie.

When the credits rolled he had almost forgotten that they were basically cuddling. Not really, but Dean had a low enough bar for what constituted cuddling that they were unacceptably close. He wanted the damn kiss to be _over_ , but he couldn’t be eager. He stretched, deliberate and slow, and opened his eyes to find Cas staring at him.

“So,” he said. “Like the movie?”

Cas nodded slowly. Dean grinned. “That impatient for your kiss, huh?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “You’re singing a different tune tonight,” he said.

Dean shrugged. “I remembered that I don’t give a crap. 90-odd more kisses - I can suffer through that to keep the mine safe.”

Cas raised his eyebrows, and Dean's heart sped up. "You can suffer through it?"

Dean nodded. Cas stared at him, then said, "Well, I don't want to prolong your torture," and leaned in. Dean felt his lips tingle in anticipation, and he closed his eyes, a “stop” on the tip of his tongue.

Instead, after a brief pause, he felt a soft kiss on the side of his neck. He gasped - he _had_ to stop doing that - and his eyes flew open as Cas slowly, gently nuzzled his neck, kissing from the edge of his shoulder to the underside of his jaw.

That _stop_ was stuck in his throat. This was good though - call a halt too soon, and it would seem like he was scared. This was exactly what he should be doing, he thought, eyes fluttering closed - wait a second or two, then tell him to stop, make it clear he’s not nervous, just uninterested.

He felt himself relaxing into the couch as waves of pleasant warmth drifted outward from the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Cas’s body chased his as he slumped backward, folding over him, not touching anywhere except where his lips drifted over Dean’s neck.

His pulse jumped as Cas’s tongue found a particularly sensitive spot. His hair was tickling Dean’s cheek. He swallowed and Cas chased the bob of his adam’s apple. What he could see of Cas when his eyes drifted open - dark head bent, shoulders hovering over his - was... it was a good visual.

Dean’s lips were still tingling. He wondered if Cas would really kiss him if he didn’t call a halt soon. He wondered how long it had been. His whole body was tingling.

Cas _mmm_ ’d and finally touched him somewhere else, wrapping a hand possessively around Dean’s shoulder. It burned. All of Dean’s skin was burning. His eyes snapped open.

“Stop!” He scrambled for Cas’s shoulders to push him away, but he was already on the other side of the couch. This time, Dean noted with some satisfaction, he wasn’t _entirely_ unaffected - he was definitely breathing faster, his lips rubbed red.

But all he said was, “Okay,” and “Have a good night, Dean.”

Dean stared at him, then sped for his room without a second thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed the line “The word shower echoed around in Dean’s mind in search of something to connect with,” you should definitely check out The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. Despite having far less gay sex than this story, it is immeasurably more brilliant.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean wasn’t good at a lot: fixing cars, sure, bugging the crap out of Sammy, and charming chicks at the Roadhouse. But if there was one thing among his meager stable of skills at which he excelled, it was repressing shit.

Rhonda Hurley - who? The look on Principal Kleinrock’s face when he’d told him he wouldn’t be able to finish the year? Barely memorable. That time in third grade he’d laughed so hard he’d peed his gym shorts, and had to steal a new pair? As if it had happened to another person. When Sammy had run away ten years back, and what Dad had done when he’d come home and found out? Dean rarely give it a thought.

So yeah - this thing with Cas was weird and troubling, but it was small potatoes compared to what he’d dealt with in the past. He was fine.

The parking spots at KU were obnoxiously small - probably because everyone rode bikes or drove those dumbass smart cars or some shit. Once Dean had ensured there was a satisfactory buffer of space around Baby, he made his way up to Sammy’s dorm.

He passed a coed wearing nothing but a glaringly purple bikini in the hallway, and gave her a leer which she flatteringly returned. Truthfully, Dean didn’t really like younger chicks - made him feel kind of skeevy - but it felt like a pleasant return to his old self. There was a goth couple making out against Sammy’s door when he got there, reeking of pot. Dean sighed and cleared his throat. They broke apart, revealing that it was two guys. Dean felt his face heating. _Repress. Repress._

“Sorry, dude,” one of them said, bleary eyed. His tonsil buddy grabbed his hand and moved them a few feet to the left.

“Uhuh,” Dean grunted, and hammered on Sam’s door.

Sasquatch cracked it open looking like two bucks. “Huh?” He grumbled.

“You forget we were s’posed to have lunch?” Dean asked.

Sammy groaned and leaned his forehead against the doorframe. “Midterms,” he whined.

“I don’t care,” Dean said. “That diner around the corner has the best peach pie I’ve ever had, don’t tell Ellen, and I only get to go when I’m visiting your gigantor ass, so c’mon.” He whistled. “Get moving.”

Sam’s mood improved marginally once he had some coffee. “You’re really killing yourself over there,” Dean said. “Isn’t college supposed to be all parties and sex?”

“Not if you want to get into a good law school,” Sam said. “Then it’s all logic problems and... caffeine.”

Dean shrugged. “Sounds to me you’re doing it wrong.”

Sam fixed him with a beady stare. “So how’s the Bough?”

Dean choked on his sandwich. “What?”

“C’mon, Dean, you move up there without a word, just ask us to trust you?” Apparently intrigue was all that was needed to make the kid perk up. “What’s going on?”

“You think that changed in the last few days? I can’t explain. Change the subject.”

Sam rubbed his thumb along his coffee mug. “Okay, you can’t explain why you moved there. But you can tell me what it’s like, right?”

Dean glared at him. Sam pressed on, “C’mon, it’s like, one of the biggest properties in Lawrence. I’m curious.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s a big house. Old. Fancy.” He thought of the garage, and the shower. “Some perks.”

“That’s cool,” Sammy said. “And one of the Davies is living there now?”

Dean stared down the straw into his drink. “Yeah.”

“What’s he like?”

Dean threw his sandwich onto his plate, suddenly not hungry. “He’s a rich asshole, alright? Damn, what’s with the third degree?”

“It’s interesting,” Sam said. “They’re like, American royalty, and they have a house here.”

“Yeah, well, I doubt they’ve ever set foot in it,” Dean said. “Way too musty.”

Sam frowned at him. “Don’t you remember? They were here like fifteen years ago.”

Dean blinked at him. “What are you talking about?”

Sam was gesturing as he got worked up. “Yeah, it was that first year we were back here after -” he glanced at Dean’s face and swallowed awkwardly, before rushing on, “I was with Missouri while you and Dad were out, and I remember this super fancy looking couple came by with their kid. Something about their sitter dropping out at the last minute. I found out after he’d left that he was a Davies.” Sam scrunched up his nose. “I think his name was... Cassiel?”

This time Dean choked on nothing but air. “Castiel?”

“Yeah,” Sammy said. “Why? Is that who’s living there now?”

“Yeah,” Dean said. “This is weird. You knew him as a kid?”

Sam nodded. “He was really shy. He was a few years older than me but he wouldn’t talk to any of the kids his age, that’s how we got to hanging out.” Dean had a strangely easy time picturing it: pint-size Castiel, hair still wild and tufted, huge blue eyes, chewing on a thumbnail and hiding in a corner. “I’m guessing it was a culture thing,” Sam continued. “Rich kids don’t usually get sent to community daycare.”

Dean shook himself to dispel the mental image. “Yeah, there’s definitely a weird vibe from the entire place.”

“Can I visit?” Sam asked suddenly.

Dean stared at him. “We just finished talking about how creepy it is. Why do you want to visit?”

“You’re living there,” Sam said. “I wanna see what it’s like! Maybe Castiel will remember me. We can catch up.”

Dean’s heart was thumping. “I don’t think so, Sammy.” He could see the beginnings of the puppy dog glimmer in Sam’s eyes, and rushed to quash it. “Cas isn’t the shy kid you remember. He’s messed up. Addled. Lindsay Lohan, this ringing any bells?”

Sammy’s eyebrows had crept up his forehead. “He’s that bad?”

Dean nodded. “So be lucky you had a nice, broke-ass upbringing. Kept you from becoming a... washed-up Paris Hilton, I dunno.”

“You need fresher references,” Sam said. “And if it’s so bad, why are you living with him?”

Dean glared at him, then shifted his gaze over his shoulder. “Let’s get some of that pie.”

***

Cas and Benny were just getting out of their car when Dean pulled into the garage. He frowned at them. “So Benny’s your chauffeur too?” He asked. “No wonder he doesn’t have time to keep this place clean. You got him doing five jobs.”

“A necessity, I’m afraid,” Cas said. “I don’t have my license.”

Dean goggled. “Dude, how can you not have a driver’s license?” Cas opened his mouth again and Dean cut him off. “Wait, don’t tell me - never needed to, because you been chauffeured around in limos all your life?”

“I also rode a bike in college,” Cas said. Dean rolled his eyes.

“We’re fixing this today,” he said. “Cancel your plans.”

Benny shook his head and went inside while Cas approached the Impala. “You’d let me drive your precious Baby?”

Dean scoffed. “Please. You have to work your way up to a machine that powerful.”

Cas’s eyes flicked from Dean’s shoes to his eyes. “I agree,” he murmured.

Dean ignored him. “A perfect excuse to take this Aston Martin of yours for a swing,” he said, rummaging through the key box. “Not that it could compare to Baby, of course, but it’ll do for you to practice on.”

“Of course,” Cas demurred.

They started with donuts in the driveway. Disappointingly, hungover and generally-crazy Cas was much smoother behind the wheel than 15-year-old Dean had been; it didn’t seem like any blackmail (or kiss-avoidance) material was going to come out of this venture. Once Cas was feeling confident with _gas_ and _break_ , they got out onto the open road. Dean made sure he knew how to pump gas, and change his oil because why not, then took him downtown so he could practice with traffic and lots of signals. They fought over the radio, and Dean trained him on being able to change tracks without taking his eyes off the road, because reluctant as he was to admit it, driver did pick the tunes. After a while they turned north, along the river, and then west as the sun set, pulling off the road onto a muddy field hemmed in by trees.

“Dean?” Cas asked, as he followed Dean out of the car. “What’s this?”

Dean nudged the cold ground with the toe of his shoe, digging up a charred plastic disc. “Me and Sammy used to come out here when we were kids,” he explained. “Good place to get away from everything.”

“Uh huh,” Cas said, taking in the bleak meadow. “It’s a shame I didn’t pack a picnic basket. Could have been so romantic.”

Dean rolled his eyes and walked back to where Cas was leaning against the front door. He hefted himself up on the hood, settling back to watch the sunset. Cas joined him. 

“So what is this?” He asked. “Some grand tour of Lawrence, trying to make me love it the way you do?” 

Dean twisted his head to look at him. “What? I don’t care about Lawrence. No different from a million other hick towns we’ve lived in over the years.”

“You moved around a lot?”

“Well, we were born in Lawrence,” Dean said. “Stayed here for a few years. We moved away after -” he swallowed past the lump in his throat. “Mom died when I was four.”

“I’m sorry,” Cas said, his gravelly voice quiet.

“Anyway. Dad had a hard time keeping a job for a while, so we’ve lived all over the place. Lawrence’s no different from the rest.”

“You seemed pretty passionate about it the day we met,” Cas offered.

“Yeah, the _people_ ,” Dean said. “Ellen, Bill, Bobby, Rufus. And not for nothing, Cas, but you don’t have to have some hallmark, rose-colored look on life to think people don’t deserve to die at the bottom of some pit.”

“Of course not,” Cas said. “I just thought - I don’t know.”

Dean was deciding whether to ask what that meant when the first firework lit up the dusk sky above them. 

“Woah,” Cas said. “Is that what people come out here for?”

“It’s what Sammy and I used to do.”

“But it’s not even the 4th of July,” Cas said over the hiss and pop of the pyrotechnics.

“It’s exploding shit,” Dean said. “Who needs a reason?”

They watched the pinwheels and sparklers for another minute without words before Cas turned to face him. “This is lovely,” he said solemnly.

“See, now that there’s exploding shit you’re not sarcastic anymore.”

Cas ignored him. “Thank you for taking me out here, Dean.”

And before Dean could form a reply, Cas leaned forward and quickly pecked him on the lips. He blinked rapidly.

“That’s it?” He finally said.

“The fireworks are so romantic,” Cas said, almost sheepishly. “They’re doing my work for me.”

Dean rolled his shoulders, then turned to look up at the lights again. “Okay.”

“Are you disappointed?” He heard Cas ask to the right.

“No,” he said.

They watched fireworks in the stilted silence. Dean could feel Cas building up to something. He changed the subject.

“Hey Cas,” he said. “Why are you in Lawrence?”

There was a pause. “What do you mean?”

“The day we met, you said you were banished here,” Dean said.

Cas chuckled dryly. “True, I’m afraid.”

Dean turned to look at him. “What for?”

Cas was staring up at the fireworks, their tiny reflections swimming in the glassy surface of his eyes. “What do you think, Dean?” Cas waggled his eyebrows, but he still wasn’t looking at him. “You saw the living room when you got here.”

“Yeah, I dunno,” Dean said. “You’re smart, Cas. Really smart.”

“Oh, Dean,” Cas said. “Don’t you know sometimes it’s the brightest minds who are also the most tortured?”

“So you’re tortured?” Dean asked.

Cas frowned. “I just meant being smart doesn’t preclude having a taste for decadence.”

“You sure cleaned up fast for a diehard party animal.”

“That’s because I have a new goal now,” Cas said, finally turning to meet Dean’s gaze, chewing on his lower lip.

“Don’t try to distract me,” Dean said. “You’re not giving me the whole story. Serious kid like you, kinda guy who can sit down with Bobby and make sense of all those reports and schematics the day after throwing some kind of rager or orgy or whatever -”

“I could provide the details if you’d like.”

“I don’t think your folks sent you out here just for doing some depraved shit,” Dean said. “So what happened?”

Cas was back to staring at the fiery sky. “I’m sorry I don’t have a more interesting story.”

“Bullshit,” Dean said. “You wear this rich kid, party animal stuff like a thin coat of paint.”

“How poetic.”

“What was it, Cas?”

Cas laughed and sat up, picking at the hem of his shirt. “You know, Dean, just because I like the taste of your skin doesn’t mean I’m going to spill my life story to you. I’m sure you’ve had enough one night stands to understand that.”

Dean felt a laugh slip out even though his throat had gone tight. “I actually sleep with my one night stands.”

“It’s day three,” Cas said, training those burning blue eyes on him. “Give me time.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean said. “Good job wasting today’s kiss on the fucking fireworks.” He leapt off the car and pulled the driver’s side door open. “Get in the car.”

Cas’s skin flickered purple and green under the glinting sky. “What happened to my lessons?”

“Oh, I think you learned plenty,” Dean said. He got in and slammed his door, staring at the strip of skin where Cas’s shirt rode up while he sat on the hood stubbornly for another minute or so, before getting into the passenger side.

It was a long ride home.

***

Dad was at Bobby’s the next day when Dean came in for his break. “Hey, Dad,” he said. “What’re you doing here?”

“Just lunch,” John said.

“You should have told me,” Dean said, grabbing his own from the fridge. “I would have come in sooner.”

“Yeah, but then we couldn’t talk shit about you,” Bobby said.

“Ha ha,” Dean said. The two old men seemed to be eyeing him as he got out his fork and dug in. He let himself enjoy a few bites, then said, “What’s up?”

Dad looked at Bobby and then back again. “Bobby was telling me about your new roommate. The Davies boy?”

Dean swallowed and nodded. “What about him?”

“Seems pretty interested in the mine,” John said. “I was surprised to see him there the other day.” Dean chewed some more and shrugged. John narrowed his eyes. “This sudden interest have anything to do with you?”

Accurate guesses were one thing, but Dean knew for a fact he wasn’t allowed to confirm anything, so he just said, “I have no idea. I’m not exactly close with the guy.”

“Even though you’re living there?” Bobby asked.

Dean rolled his eyes. “If this is some kind of ambush, you can save it. I already told Dad I can’t explain.” He packed up his lunch and pointed at Bobby. “I expected more from you, old man.”

Bobby gaped offendedly but said nothing. From the sink, Dean heard Dad say behind him, “That’s good. Wouldn’t believe the stories I hear about that kid.”

“Yeah, well, the place is a shithole,” Dean said, wiping his hands. “I’m sure I would believe it.”

“Drugs, orgies, unnatural things,” Dad continued. Dean felt heat creeping up his neck and gave his hands an extra thorough washing. “So there’s nothing to the rumor you were at one of these, ah, zoological events?”

Dean spun around. “There are _rumors_?” He asked.

Dad shrugged. “Small town.”

“Not that small,” Dean muttered.

“So that’s a no,” Bobby supplied.

Dean scowled. “What do you think?” Bobby and Dad both nodded. Dean felt a sour twist in his gut. “Now if it’s okay with you two, I’m gonna go back to work. Don’t let me keep you from gossiping.”

He left the kitchen to the sound of their chuckles.

***

Cas skipped dinner for the second night in a row, which was a shame when he had only just discovered Benny’s burgers. His room was too quiet. The entire house was too quiet; in fact, that was the problem with country life altogether. He missed the city. He missed the mental buzz that could fill the country silence. He missed his college dorm, of all things, full of idiots and terrible music and tacky posters and chess matches.

He prowled the halls until he found noise - a tinny cheering coming from downstairs. He followed it to the living room, where he found Dean changing channels irritably. He turned a scornful look on Cas as he entered. “He emerges,” Dean intoned, returning his gaze to the TV. “Benny and Andrea missed you at dinner.”

Cas debated just leaving, but that would be cowardly. He said nothing as he approached the couch, grabbed the remote, and muted the TV. Only once it was quiet did he say, “I didn’t want to miss my kiss of the day.”

Dean sighed, shaking his head. “Of course not,” he muttered. But he did startle when Cas went to his knees on either side of him, straddling his lap and linking his arms behind Dean’s head. “Woah,” he said. “Not taking things slow anymore?”

Dean’s legs were warm, the nape of his neck soft against Cas’s fingertips, and his eyes unbelievably green in the light from the fireplace. “I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” Cas replied. Dean nodded, his cheekbones turning pink and his lips parting slightly. Cas really could spend all day staring at him, but he was here with a mission, and it wouldn’t do to delay.

He leaned his head alongside Dean’s, letting their cheeks rub together, and felt Dean swallow. He exhaled gently on Dean’s ear, letting the warm breath gather, and moved his hands to bracket Dean’s shoulders, rubbing them slowly, feeling him start to relax. He ran the tip of his nose from the top of Dean’s ear to the shallow shell, and when he reached the bottom he took the lobe in a slow, careful bite.

Dean exhaled roughly and brought his hands up to Cas’s hips. He doubted he was conscious of having done it, but wasn’t about to alert him. He let his hands trail down Dean’s arms to his hips, then back up his white button-up. The shirt was particularly good fortune; as he let his breath ghost down Dean’s neck, he started unbuttoning slowly. His nose traced warm patterns along the hollow of Dean’s clavicle, until his shirt was loose enough for Cas to slip a hand inside, kneading the warm skin. Dean was almost panting. Cas’s own skin was starting to burn, and he felt his hips pick up a subtle rhythm before he could stop himself.

That was a mistake. Dean came to his senses all at once, grabbing Cas by the shoulders and saying, “Okay, Cas, stop.”

Cas drew back to look him in the eye. Dean’s face was flushed, his lips red and bitten, his skin golden, a hint of black ink showing at the top of his shirt. Cas shook his head almost sadly. “I haven’t kissed you yet, Dean.”

Dean blinked, dazed, and Cas could see the cogs moving in his head.

Before he could work it out, Cas lowered his head to the tattoo on Dean’s chest and took it into his mouth.

Dean’s breath left him in a rush and Cas felt his head drop back against the couch. His skin was warm, taut, and smooth under Cas’s lips. He ran his tongue over the tattoo, trying to feel its raised edges, while his hands dropped to rest on Dean’s ribs. He sucked hard for a moment before letting his mouth wander down to Dean’s nipple, tasting the tender, puckering skin, teeth grazing. 

Dean’s hands had tightened on Cas’s hips, and Cas could feel his own fingers scrabbling, getting impatient, wanting more skin, _more_. Dean was making these barely audible gasping grunts that set Cas’s blood on fire. His patience snapped under a sudden onslaught of need, and he brought his head up to fit their mouths together.

Dean must not have realized he was kissing back, but Cas didn’t care, pushing their lips together feverishly, letting his tongue sweep inside. The first touch of Dean’s tongue sent a burst of electricity down his spine, his hips picking the rhythm back up against his will. Cas crushed his fingers through Dean’s hair, his other hand splayed on his chest, fingers slipping through the dampness he’d left there, and he couldn’t breathe, but he couldn’t have moved his mouth if his life depended on it. Dean’s tongue was so soft, his lips moving so sweetly under his, keeping him anchored, rooted, he needed _more_ and he needed to never stop doing this -

Cas was on the floor before he’d registered that Dean had pushed him out of his lap and was gasping for breath in the corner of the couch. His chest heaved and Cas thought he could spot a touch of purple on the black of the tattoo. He reached out a hand -

“Don’t!” Dean shouted. “We’re done.”

Cas closed his eyes and breathed deep, standing after a moment. Dean remained on the couch, eyes screwed shut. “You cheated,” he finally ground out.

Cas blinked, still feeling vaguely weightless. “I what?”

Dean turned to glare at him. “You know what you did.”

“I took advantage of an obvious loophole in the arrangement,” Cas said. “It’s not my fault it worked so spectacularly.”

Dean leapt to his feet. “Fuck you.” 

Cas ignored the obvious joke. “You’re the one who kissed back,” he said, hating that his voice was still breathy. “Isn’t it time to get over yourself and admit you’re not as straight as you think you are?”

Dean’s eyes widened, and for a wild second Cas thought he might strike him. Or kiss him again. Finally he stormed out of the room, leaving Cas alone as a clock somewhere struck midnight.

“Could’ve gotten another kiss,” Cas mumbled, and sat back down on the couch.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the end notes for a trigger warning.

Dean dreamt he was at home, his father tall and yelling at him about something he was just on the verge of understanding. Cas was there, standing behind him, a hand on his shoulder. It itched. He wanted to shove it off, tell him to leave, but then he’d be alone with Dad and the shadows in the kitchen, and he was scared -

He woke with a start, face pressed into his pillow. His room was quiet and warm, the sun streaming in. It was his day off, so he’d slept late, yet he still felt groggy and exhausted.

He pulled himself up and ran his palms over his hair, cringing as memories of last night played behind his eyelids in spite of himself - his hands on Cas’s hips, Cas’s lips on his, the _sounds_ he knows he made... He felt ill, his face burning. How could he have done that? 

And the look on Cas’s face afterwards. Those eyes, holding his. Cas had - Cas had _seen_ him. He wanted to disappear. The memory felt tangible under his skin, like if he could just touch it he could rip it out and be at peace.

And yet last night, for a moment, it had been - Dean shook his head. This whole thing with Cas was trouble. He was like a damn magnet - he’d find himself staring at Cas without realizing it, trying to puzzle him out, studying the texture of his stubble, the lines in his lips. Replaying their conversations, wondering what Cas would make of his stories from work, imaging what the next kiss would be. That kiss on the couch - Cas’s lips by his ear, his hands running all over him, his heavy weight in his lap - it had felt amazing. Just like being with a girl, and... not. 

Maybe those Dr. Sexy marathons he’d indulged in as a teen (and okay, last week) made more sense now. 

Growing disgusted by his own inertia and fear, he eventually forced himself out of his room and downstairs for breakfast. Cas was already there, his back to him as he walked in. Dean mentally patted himself on the back for managing to walk by without flinching.

“Dean,” he heard from behind him, and the scrape of a chair. 

He took his time piling his plate with eggs and sausage before turning around. Cas looked - well, horrible: skin pallid, eyes bloodshot, dark circles underneath. He was wearing a fresh shirt as if it was putting up a fight - the veneer of cleanliness dragged kicking and screaming over the effects of the kind of Scotch that’s supposed to be preserved, not drunk. Dean cocked an eyebrow.

“Up late?” he asked.

Cas’s eyebrows twitched together, but he soldiered on. “I find I need to apologize again.”

Dean sat down and applied himself to his breakfast. “For what.”

Out of the corner of his eye he watched Cas retake his seat slowly. After a long pause, Dean looked up at him. He had a deer in the headlights look. Dean made a small spinning motion with his fork.

Cas opened his mouth and stared down at his plate. “I’ve been... taunted and teased about my sexuality my whole life.” Dean raised his eyebrows, but now that Cas had found the thread he seemed determined to continue. “Last night I did nothing more than the same to you. Circumstances and... motives shouldn’t matter. It was inappropriate, and I apologize.”

Dean finished chewing and sat back in his chair. “Does this mean you’re calling the whole deal off?”

Cas’s eyes flashed and his lips thinned. After a considering beat, he said, “I will waive my kiss for today as penance.”

Dean frowned, but quickly turned it into a sarcastic smile. “How generous of you.” He reapplied himself to his breakfast, and after a hesitant moment Cas did the same. They ate in silence until Dean couldn’t take it anymore. “So. What’s up with the mine?”

Cas startled a bit and chewed rapidly before answering. “I’ve reached the point I’ve been dreading. I know what needs to be done, but the question now is what, legally, can I do?”

“How do you figure that out?”

“One of DI’s local finance people is coming by today to discuss it. An old friend. We’ll start there,” Cas said.

“We?” Dean asked.

Cas gave him a look over his coffee mug. “I assumed you’d want to be there. Make sure I’m holding up my end of the bargain.”

“Deal,” Dean said, breaking into some bacon with renewed relish.

***

One of Davies International’s local finance people turned out to be a petite brunette with scarlet lips and eyes like oil. Those eyes were on Dean as she took Cas’s hand and kissed him on the cheek, purring, “Hiya, Clarence. Miss me?”

“Meg,” Cas smiled. “Thanks for coming.” 

“Of course,” she said. “People usually drunk dial me for sex, not business. I was instantly intrigued.”

Dean could’ve sworn Cas blushed, but he had only a second to process that before they both turned to look at him. He felt a bit like a butterfly under giant needles. Cas said, “This is my friend, Dean.”

She arched a slim eyebrow as they shook hands. “Friend, huh?”

Dean suspected his face was a cross between a grimace and smirk. Meg’s other eyebrow joined the party. “Well okay then. Shall we talk shop?”

Dean was relieved Cas took them to the dining room - there was something about this woman that made him not want her in his nice, clean new living room. Still, Dean thought, he should clear out some more rooms in the mansion - Cas needed a proper office if he was going to have more meetings like these.

Meg slung a huge purse into the seat next to her and took out some folders and a pen, but then seemed to ignore them completely as she turned to Cas once they were all seated and said, “Yeah, there’s nothing you can do.”

Dean froze. Cas frowned and said, “That was fast.”

“It’s not a complicated question. Mr. Davies is at the top of the pyramid. He owns Little Branch mine, and he owns _you_ ,” she said, one sharpened nail extending to Cas. “It’s not transitive.”

“There has to be _something_ ,” Dean said.

Meg turned to stare at him while Cas said, “Forget management. There are improvements, investments that could be made. Newer technology. Could I buy it for them?”

“For Christmas?” Meg asked. Cas glared at her. She sighed. “Short of putting your mcguffin in the back of a pick-up and driving it over there...”

“Meg,” Cas said, and woah. His entire demeanor changed in an instant, his voice going low(er) and smoky, his eyes wide and pleading, and yet somehow also... intense. Seductive. 

Dean shifted uncomfortably, but neither of them seemed to notice him. Meg held Cas’s gaze for a long moment, then rolled her eyes, sighed, and said, “I could probably move some money around. You know what you want to buy?”

“I’ll send you an email,” Cas said.

“This isn’t going to last,” Meg said. “They start poking around, they’ll realize the numbers don’t add up. It’s a temporary measure.”

“Aren’t we all?” Cas said, standing. “Thanks, Meg.”

“That’s it?” She asked. “No drinks? No reminiscence? No explaining what the hell you’re doing in Kansas, shacked up with Midwest Ken?”

“Hey!” Dean yelled. Cas shot him a quelling look.

“Of course,” he said. “You are _helping us_ ,” this last with a glare at Dean. He turned back to Meg. “Blood and Sand?”

Dean was utterly confused, but Meg just said, “You remembered,” her face something like bashful.

“Of course,” Cas said. “Give me one minute.”

He disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Dean and Meg alone.

“So, Ken-”

“ _Dean_.” He ground out.

“Dean,” she said, like she was appeasing a toddler, “How did you and Clarence meet?” Dean just glared at her. She raised an eyebrow. “You’re all about biting the hand that feeds you, huh?”

“Cas asked me not to discuss it,” he said, which was literally true.

“Really?” she said. “Discretion? That doesn’t sound like the Cas I knew.”

Dean frowned at her. “How long have you known him?”

“Oh, ages,” Meg said. “But if you’re asking when was the last time we slept together, it was years ago.” Dean felt a chill, but Meg didn’t seem to notice or care. “Back when he was all cute and coltish, and still a mess over Alfie.”

“Alfie?” Dean asked, as Cas pushed through the doors with a martini glass in hand. He jerked as he heard the name, golden brown liquid sloshing over the side.

“Oops,” Meg said, and got up to take it from Cas, who was standing there dumbly. Dean grabbed a napkin and pressed it to his damp hand. Meg tossed what was left of the drink back and put the glass down on the table.

“I’m sorry, Meg,” Cas said quietly, his eyes still on the middle distance. “I’ll get you another.”

Meg smiled, predatory but not necessarily harsh. “That’s okay, Clarence. I’ve taken up too much of your time.” Cas frowned, but she picked up her bag and waltzed toward the door. “Don’t forget to send me the particulars,” she said, then left.

Cas glanced at Dean, then quickly back at his hand. He pressed the stained napkin into Dean’s hands, and said, “I should go rinse this.”

Alone in the dining room, Dean picked up the martini glass, wiped down the base, and wiped up the ring it had left on the wood surface of the table.

***

Cas paced his room, frustrated. Meg’s news hadn’t been unexpected, and was in fact the initial reason he had turned Dean down - the Little Branch Mine wasn’t _his_ , so he couldn’t order them to do anything. But Dean’s stubborn optimism - well, maybe not optimism, as much as stubbornness in general - was infectious. Cas had a job to do, a deal to honor, and he wasn’t going to let Dean down.

He found the contact information for a Mr. Zachariah Adler among the papers Bobby had given him, and gave him a call. After speaking to several secretaries and waiting long enough to devise a makeshift game out of flicking bottle caps into the trash bin, a man’s voice picked up.

“Adler.”

Cas sat up. “Mr. Adler. Castiel Davies, how are you?”

Zachariah’s voice was a mockery of surprise. “Mr. Davies! Nice to meet you - telephonically that is,” he chuckled gratingly.

Cas pasted on a fake smile to help his voice stay warm. “Likewise. I wanted to call because I wasn’t sure if you were aware I’d settled down in the Bough, just outside Lawrence.”

“Oh!” Zach said, not a denial. “What a lovely estate. My wife says so every time we drive past.”

“Well, now that I’m here, I’d love to have you and your wife over for dinner sometime. After all, we’re all a part of the Davies family.” Cas grimaced.

“Of course!” Zach’s voice was syrupy sweet.

Cas cleared his throat. “There is something else I wanted to discuss with you. A... friend of mine, here in town. His father works at Little Branch. I understand you oversee the mine?”

“Yes, sir,” Zach said. “One of the most profitable Davies properties in the Midwest.”

“That’s wonderful,” Cas said. “I’ve heard some concerning things, though. Safety issues.”

Zach laughed, and Cas gripped the phone hard enough to create a protesting plastic squawk. “Well, you know how it is, the squeaky wheel gets the grease.”

Cas took a deep breath, and said “Mining’s a dangerous business. I want to make sure you’re doing everything in your power to minimize the areas of concern.”

“I will absolutely take that under advisement.”

“I’d like you to make it your top priority,” Cas said firmly.

There was a minute pause, and then Zach said, “Over profitability?”

“Profits and safety aren’t mutually exclusive,” Cas said. “We’re not running a Depression-era shirtwaist factory.”

“Uh huh,” Zach said, and Cas could feel the disdain emanating from his tone. “Well, _Cas_ , I appreciate your interest in the mine. I’m sure you’re eager to become acquainted with the town now that you’re here. Your... friend must be helping with that,” he said, and Cas gritted his teeth. “But as I understand it, you’ve been quite busy since you got here. Maybe you haven’t had enough time to really read up on the Davies’ properties in the area. It’s not just Little Branch, there’s also -”

“I’m familiar with Davies’ holdings in the area, Zach.” Cas said. “If we could return to discussion of the mine-”

“Cas,” Zach cut him off. “I don’t appreciate being told how to do my job by a child.”

And there it was. “Why do you think I’m out here, Zach?” Cas said. “My parents gave me full authority over the DI properties in the area. They’re grooming me.”

Dean chose that moment to poke his head around the edge of Cas’s ajar door. Cas sat up, surprised, and tried to focus on what Zach was saying.

“You?” Zach scoffed. “I heard about some of the things you’ve been up to in that mausoleum.” Dean walked further into the room. “Your parents are handing their cash cows over to a miscreant little freak?”

Cas held Dean’s eye and tried to imitate the voice he’d heard his father use so often. “Careful, Zach,” he said. “You’re speaking to a Davies.”

Dean raised his eyes. On the phone, Zach said, “I’m speaking to an infant. You think I’m going to take criticism of _my_ mine from _you_?”

“Okay,” Cas said, taking a deep breath as he got to the important part. “I’ll just give my parents a call, and let them know all the colorful terms you’ve used for me, as well as the fact that you’re openly defying my instructions-”

“Wait.” Zach interrupted. Cas exhaled silently. Dean grinned.

“Yes?”

He could hear Zach clearing his throat. “I’ll... I can look into safety standards at the mine.”

“Wonderful,” Cas said. “That’s what I wanted to hear. I hope you’re able to come over for dinner soon.” Dean frowned and shook his head. Cas flapped a hand at him. “I think my parents are planning a visit some time in the next few weeks - maybe we can all get together. I know they’d love to see our working relationship in action.”

Zach’s voice was dull on the other end of the line. “Uh huh.”

“Well, I’m late for another meeting. Great speaking to you,” Cas said, and hung up. 

Dean clapped. “That was Zach, huh? Sounds like it went well?”

Cas sighed and slumped in his chair. “Another temporary measure. I’m sure I’ve scared him off for now, but eventually he _will_ call my parents and it’ll fall apart again. Actually...”

He got out his phone and scrolled through the contacts until he found the one he was looking for. “Rachel!” He said when she picked up after one ring, as she always did. Dean frowned.

“Castiel?” She asked. “What is it?”

“I, ah, need a favor,” he said. 

He could hear her rolling her eyes. “ _You’re_ the one that owes _me_ a favor.”

“Ah ah ah,” Cas said. “Are you forgetting Greece?” Dean’s eyebrows climbed up his forehead.

There was a long pause. She finally said, “What do you need?”

“If anyone from Lawrence, the Little Branch mine, or Zachariah Adler calls for my father, don’t let them through, okay?”

There was a pause. “That’s it?”

“Please?” He asked.

“Very well,” she said. “But this _definitely_ makes us even.”

“Deal,” Cas said, and hung up. “My father’s personal assistant,” he explained to Dean.

“Greece?” Dean asked.

“Don’t ask.” 

Dean grinned and shook his head. “I came to see if you’re coming to dinner tonight. Benny made burgers again!” He waggled his eyebrows.

For a second Cas was struck dumb by how handsome, happy, and domestic Dean was in this moment. As excited as he was to enjoy more of Benny’s handiwork, he wished they could dine alone. He could ask Dean about his day, talk more about the mine, and just chat about nothing at all. He wouldn’t even mind having to clean up afterwards, his mind conjuring up a vision of doing dishes with Dean, side by side. He was finding it somewhat difficult to breathe.

He shook his head and said, “Burgers? I’m in.”

***

After dinner they sat in the living room and put a game on, but muted it after a while to talk more about the mine and what the next steps could be.

“We could try to get Zachariah fired,” Cas was saying. “It wouldn’t be difficult. But it _would_ be difficult to do without getting the mine shut down.”

Dean rolled his beer in his palms. Cas hadn’t drank with dinner and wasn’t doing so now. “Hookers and blow?”

Cas’s lip quirked. “Maybe.”

“What if you were in charge of the mine?” Dean asked.

Cas stared at him blankly. “That would help, certainly, but... I’m not.”

“What’s nepotism good for if not this?”

Cas stared at the fire. “That would involve actually speaking to one or both of my parents.”

“You’re tight with Rachel the assistant but not them?”

Cas said nothing. The firelight played over the harsh angles of his face, deepening the shadows.

“I feel like I’m getting the cliff-notes, man,” Dean said after a long pause. “We keep coming back to the same problems, and you just turn all brood-y.” Cas showed no sign of breaking the streak. Dean sighed. “If I was really your... live-in rent boy, wouldn’t part of my job be asking what’s bothering you?”

That got Cas to meet his eyes, at least. “Probably not, no.”

Dean gave a full-body sigh. “Well, look. I’ve had to, these last few days...” he struggled for the right words, “... accept something. Kind of tricky, about myself.” Cas’s eyes widened, and he rushed to get it over with. “I guess I’m probably not as straight as I liked to think I was.”

“Dean-”

“So, I got that off my chest,” Dean said, gesturing with his beer. “Your turn.”

Cas’s eyes were still wide and unguarded, and he slumped a little at that. He stared at his hands - wishing for a drink, maybe - but Dean could be patient now. He knew he’d won.

“I was medicated my whole life,” Cas started, and that wasn’t what Dean had been expecting, but okay. “I never did find out the exact cocktail, but I was a... quiet kid. Straight As. Daddy’s little soldier,” he laughed hollowly. 

“I went to college and eased up on the meds a bit, but I had no reason to. My life was spooling out exactly as I thought it would. Measured out in coffee spoons. I made friends; acquaintances, really. I kept my grades up. I read a lot. And I played chess.

“You meet a lot of characters playing chess in a public park. Some homeless people; a lawyer from the other side of town; and Alfie.” 

Dean sucked in a breath. Cas’s eyes had gone far-off. “Alfie was a high school student. A foster child. He was autistic, and he struggled in school, but he loved chess.”

“A real genius at it?” Dean asked.

“No, actually,” Cas smiled. “That’s a stereotype, very few people with autism are savants. Alfie was decent. That’s not why I liked playing him, though. He was a good kid. Sometimes we didn’t even play at all, he’d just bring his kite to the park and I’d watch him. He -” Cas paused. “I had never really _wanted_ something before then. Maybe it wasn’t the meds, maybe it was just me. But I saw something in him. I started picturing my life helping other kids like Alfie.

“I started pursuing a degree in social work. My parents were furious.”

“Because you wanted to work with autistic kids? Why?”

Cas’s smile was stretched thin. “Oh, they’d have given me a multi-million dollar charity to run, but actually _working_ with disabled people? _Talking_ to them, _interacting_ with them? Living a hum-drum middle class existence? No. 

“Mother said it was a symptom of me going off my meds. After a... series of arguments, they upped my dosage and then transferred me across the country. They made sure my new school had no speciality program in social work. I got my degree in business.”

Cas paused. Dean realized he was holding his breath.

“Alfie drowned in a bathtub two months after I left.” 

Cas closed his eyes, and Dean clenched his jaw so tight he could feel his teeth grinding. “Cas-” Dean’s voice was hoarse. “That wasn’t your fault.”

“I know,” Cas said, sounding anything but.

Dean’s throat felt tight. “I’m sure he’s in a better place.”

Cas nodded tightly. Dean looked for tears but didn’t see any; when Cas opened his eyes they were dry, and almost worse - he had that haunted look of someone who’s done crying. Who’s just done.

Dean wished he knew what to say. Cas stared at the fire, sighed, and chuckled with brittle humor. “It’s a shame I waived my kiss for the day. Short-sighted of me.”

Dean heard himself say, “I can kiss you, can’t I?”

Cas’s eyes snapped to his, but he remained deathly still otherwise. “Any time you want, Dean.”

Feeling almost as if he wasn’t in control of his body, Dean shifted closer on the couch and ran a hand over the back of Cas’s head. He tipped his head in, keeping his eyes open, and brushed Cas’s mouth softly with his. Cas’s eyes closed - not in pleasure, or in lust, but with the relief of a man finding water in the desert. Dean cupped his cheek with his other hand and kissed him again. 

Cas sighed a little and fell back on the couch, kissing back softly but making no move to deepen it. Dean stroked his cheek with his thumb, scratched his fingers over his scalp, and focused on the softness of Cas’s lips against his. It was warm, but not frantic. Sweet, but not dizzying. He felt at peace, enjoying the warmth from the fire, the feel of Cas’s hand stroking down his back, the pop and crunch of the logs.

The sound of a door opening.

Dean lifted his head to see Andrea over Cas’s shoulder. She stood in the open doorway, Pledge and rag in hand, mouth open. It occurred to Dean that Andrea and Benny had had no reason to take Cas’s word over his about what, exactly, he was doing here.

Until now.

Sickening awareness shot through his every vein. Andrea left without closing the door, and Cas made a little _hmm_ underneath him, running his hands over Dean’s sides. “That was nice,” he murmured. “Thank you.”

Dean stared down at him. His eyes were drowsy and his lips were smudged. Pain, comfort, and expectation warred on his handsome face. 

Dean pushed off of the couch and said, “I have to go,” leaving before Cas could put his frown into words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning:
> 
>  
> 
> A story is told about an autistic high school student drowning in a bathtub about ten years prior.


	6. Chapter 6

Waking up this time was even worse. 

Sure, Dean knew he was harsher on himself than anyone else, but at least last time it had been Cas who’d tricked him into... into what they’d done. This fear, the shame and revulsion that were swamping him - this time it was on his own dumbass self. Trying to be nice. Trying to keep an “open mind”. Getting swept away in the moment like a fucking girl. 

Up until then this whole thing had been an abstraction. A dream, sort of - something he could end at any time and just shut away forever in the back of his mind. And then he’d met Andrea’s eyes, and he was nauseatingly, painfully, inescapably awake.

Clinically he wondered if he could trust her. She worked for Cas, after all; Dean hadn’t spoken to her much (she seemed kind of shy), but she was Benny’s... something, and Benny was obviously cool. If she kept her mouth shut, Dean would be very lucky. But when had he ever been lucky?

Everything seemed familiar as he drove to work - the cradle of the Impala’s front seat, the slant of the sun on the stores on Main Street, the smell of early autumn. For some reason that just made it worse, because everything _was_ different. He pulled into his usual spot at Bobby’s and took a deep breath. 

“You’re late,” Bobby greeted him. “Josie’s been waiting twenty minutes for her inspection.”

Bobby, apparently, was fine. Dean worked his shift like normal and nobody screamed or yelled or so much as gave him the stink-eye (except old woman Josie, who gave everyone the stink-eye). He finished up early, feeling relieved, and headed straight to the bank with his check. He was waiting in line when he heard it. 

“Faggot!” Coughed into someone’s fist behind him. The businesswoman in front of him turned around warily, as if someone had farted, and he turned too. Two guys around his age - he might have gone to high school with one of them, maybe? - were getting money from the ATM, huddled together, and staring at him.

He shook his head even as he felt his face heat. Maybe he was jumping to conclusions; maybe this wasn’t about him. He turned back toward the teller. The businesswoman was staring at him now.

“What up, Winchester, I heard you were blowing your new boyfriend last night,” he heard, louder now. _Well, fuck._ He turned around to find them done with the ATM and facing him fully, grinning like idiots. “Better get some mouthwash, I don’t wanna smell your dickbreath.”

“Eat shit, asshole,” he drawled, aiming for nonchalant. The bank had become very quiet.

“I heard he fucks boys and girls,” the other guy chimed in. “Are you both, Winchester? Is that why you’re his new favorite? I always thought those lips looked kinda girly.”

Well, there was only one thing for that, and Dean got a punch in on each of them before they bothered defending themselves. He felt a _crunch_ and a blinding pain in his eye, but he let his rage carry him, tackling one of them before wiry arms grabbed him around the torso, pulling him off and up.

“Break it up, break it up,” he heard someone shouting, and in a blur of motion found himself hauled out of the bank and down the street while the other two were jettisoned in the opposite direction. The bank security guard, a surprisingly scrawny guy with a mop of dishwater blond hair, seemed offended on the bank’s behalf. “You can’t fight in there,” he said.

Dean gave him the finger. His hand was shaking - his whole body was cold and stiff, dizzy as anger and humiliation assaulted him in waves. This wasn’t the first time he’d been bullied, but it was the first time he’d been so acutely aware of his own role in it. And now this would be its own scandal - if everyone hadn’t heard Andrea’s story, _everyone_ would hear about the brawl. He touched his eye gingerly. He needed to get some ice on it, but he wasn’t ready to go back to the Bough yet. He pulled into Bobby’s again as the sun was setting.

His Dad was in the kitchen. Dean had only a second to process the fact that he and Bobby were shouting at each other before they noticed him and froze.

Bobby spoke first. “The hell happened to your eye, boy?”

“Dean?” Dad interrupted. “I heard some disturbing things today.”

“Thanks, Dad, I’m fine,” Dean said, heading to the fridge and looking for peas. Bobby had shit, so he settled for a beer.

“The guys at work said they heard the maid or whatever up there caught you in the act with this Davies kid,” Dad said. 

“Dammit, John, he’s a grown man,” Bobby said. “You really want to hear what he gets up to?”

Bobby’s non-denial forced a fresh wave of nausea through him. “People sure love to gossip,” Dean choked out. Somehow he and Cas had gone from kissing to blowjobs to fucking through the grapevine?

“I want to know what’s going on,” Dad said. 

“It’s bullshit,” Dean said, and finally turned around. “I don’t know how this got started, but I sure as shit wasn’t fucking anybody last night.”

John took a step closer to him. “What exactly are you doing? Why’d you move there? What’s going on with you and Castiel Davies?”

“Nothing,” Dean sputtered, and he saw Bobby wince over Dad’s shoulder. Dad’s eyes just widened and his jaw clenched.

“You’re coming home,” he said. “Tonight. Right now.”

“No,” Dean said. “You’re freaking out over nothing. _Nothing happened_.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Dad said. 

“John, you need to cool off,” Bobby said.

Dean felt something snap inside. “I’m doing this for you!” He shouted at his father. The beer bottle he’d been holding on his eye shattered somewhere. “I’m doing this to help you!”

“Who asked you to?” John roared back. “I told you take care of your brother, not me. What the hell have you been doing?”

The fight went out of Dean as fast as it had appeared, replaced with icy, clambering sickness. _I failed at both_. “Sorry, Dad,” he said hoarsely, and left.

***

Cas could hear Benny and Andrea screaming at each other quite clearly from the living room if he left the door ajar. When he heard the front door slam, he grabbed Dean as he walked past and dragged him inside, grinning and pushing a finger to his lips. He whispered, “I don’t know what they’re fighting about, but Benny _never_ yells, so -” 

He finally got a proper look at Dean. His eye was purplish-black, and worsening quickly, and Dean was wearing an expression to match. Shocked, he asked, “What happened to your eye?”

“Asshole in town,” Dean said, walking to the fireplace without looking at him. “Andrea saw us kissing last night.” 

Cas’s stomach dropped. He closed the door behind them. “Now the whole town thinks you, me, and apparently some mythological creatures have been doing the wild thing up here, nonstop.”

“That’s,” Cas swallowed. “That’s, um -”

“Exactly what you wanted?” Dean asked.

Cas flinched. “Let me get you something for your eye.”

“Don’t bother,” Dean replied. “You’ve had your fun, Cas. Now let me go home.”

Dread rolled through him. “You’re calling off the deal?”

“I know I’ve convinced you the mine is worth saving,” Dean said. “You’ve basically already done it. So let me go.”

The guilt and fear catalyzed a petulant rage. “NO!” He said explosively. “I will do _nothing_ for Little Branch if you leave.”

Dean’s head snapped up, disbelieving and furious. “Why not? I know you’re not an asshole, Cas, you care. You care too much sometimes.”

“You overestimate me,” Cas hissed. “If you move out a day before our deal is up, I’ll leave Lawrence and do nothing for the mine. If you want my help, you have to pay the price.”

“The price is _me_ ,” Dean shouted, his face wracked with pain. “The price is my life! My father hates me. My brother will too when he finds out. I’ve let Bobby down. I got jumped at the freaking bank. It’s been a _week_ , Cas. I can’t do this for three months!”

Cas ached to comfort him, but he swallowed the impulse down. “I warned you this would happen. I told you this town wasn’t worth your time. You’re just upset that I was right.”

Dean scoffed harshly. “You’re just going to lock me up here? Hold my father’s life over my head?” His voice was sharp as glass. “You think that’s going to get me to _fuck_ you?”

Cas stepped closer and pitched his voice low and soft. “Just last night you admitted - you said you’d come to grips with the fact that you’re _not_ straight.” He could see the anger draining out of him, leaving confusion, hopelessness, and despair. “This is who you are, Dean. The bastards who jumped you are _bastards _. You’re better than them.”__

__Dean was slumped in place, face shuttered, and Cas couldn’t keep his hands off any more. He slid one onto the nape of his neck, and used his other to tip Dean’s chin up, leaning their foreheads together. Dean’s face was a picture of misery, his lip trembling. Cas tried to chase it away with a soft kiss, then another. He stepped forward until they were pressed together, his body lighting up at the contact._ _

__Dean grunted and pushed forward, turning them until Cas was slammed against the fireplace. The mantle dug into his back, but the pain was nothing next to the warmth of Dean’s body, the feel of his tongue, the roughness of his hands. Cas arched and let himself cling to Dean’s shoulders and the small of his back. This was working, he was going to stay, Cas could get him to stay if he just -_ _

__Dean ripped himself away with a curse, retreating to the other side of the room and panting. Cas touched his lips softly with his fingertips. He waited a moment to speak._ _

__“Please, Dean,” he said. “Don’t leave.”_ _

__Dean’s head was spinning. His skin tingled where Cas had touched him, and his stomach roiled with disgust. His eye ached and it was spreading to his neck, and he felt humiliatingly close to tears. His father’s words felt burned into him like a brand._ _

__Yet he couldn’t be sure Cas was bluffing about folding it all if he left. He’d never seen him shout like he had when he’d mentioned leaving - it was the most passionate Dean had ever seen him. Even now he could feel Cas’s eyes on him from across the room, staring as if he was afraid Dean would disappear when he blinked. He seemed to truly _want_ him here._ _

__Dad would be angry, Bobby and Sam wouldn’t understand, but that didn’t matter. He was doing this for them, so their family would be safe. Maybe the bullshit in town would die down, but if it didn’t? Three months, and he was done. Three months wasn’t so bad. Dean Winchester could take any kind of pain. He was doing this for his Dad, he repeated to himself. That’s all that mattered. Dean didn’t matter._ _

__Dean stormed out, and Cas didn’t relax until he heard the slam of Dean’s door upstairs._ _


	7. Chapter 7

Dean was in the middle of a pointless internal debate over which of two plaid shirts looked more “normal” the next morning when he was interrupted by a soft knock on his door.

At his invitation, Cas stuck his head in. He was all soft hesitancy, hunched shoulders, and wide, entreating eyes, like Dean was a colt he was afraid of startling. It pissed Dean off, despite a voice inside that said _he’s trying_. “What’s up, Cas?”

Cas’s face was somber. “What do you want me to do about Andrea?”

Dean frowned slightly. “What do you want to do?”

“Fire her,” Cas answered promptly. “I would think that would be obvious. But you’re the one she... hurt. I wanted to defer to you.”

Dean shook his head and rubbed his fingers over his eyes. “It wasn’t her,” he said. “It was me. People gossip. I just gave her something to gossip about.”

He opened his eyes to find Cas staring at him with taut anger on his face. He seemed to struggle to find the right words. He settled on, “That’s bullshit.” 

“It’s a tough economy, Cas,” he said. “I don’t want to get anyone fired.”

Cas didn’t speak, his gaze heavy with everything he couldn’t say. Dean dropped his eyes to the floor and grabbed a shirt at random, pulling it on over his t-shirt. “Is there still breakfast? I didn’t know if Benny...” Cas shrugged.

They entered the dining room together to see Benny laying out a spread even more lavish than usual. He started when he saw them, drawing up straight and face flushing.

“Castiel,” he said. “Dean.”

“Benny?” 

“Hungry?” He asked, pulling out a chair. Cas sat down warily while Dean began to fill a plate. Benny pushed Cas’s chair in, then turned to face both of them.

“I’m so sorry about what Andrea did,” Benny said, sounding unnaturally stiff and formal. “I did not - I told her - I wouldn’t’ve -”

“We know, Benny,” Cas said. 

“Yeah, man, you’re cool,” Dean chimed in, sitting down.

“And you don’t have to worry about Andrea,” Cas glanced at Dean quickly. “I’m not going to fire her. What she did was wrong, but she deserves a second chance.”

Benny’s eyes went flat. “That’ll be tough, since she quit.”

Cas looked stunned. “She quit?”

“Too awkward working with an ex,” Benny said gruffly.

There was a pause, and Dean shoved some food in his mouth to have something to do. “I’m not sure when I’ll see her again,” Benny said. “So...”

“Why don’t we not hire anyone else for a while?” Benny stared down at the smooth polished wood of the tabletop as Cas spoke. “Maybe she’ll come back.”

Benny gave a tight nod, then retreated into the kitchen. Cas sighed heavily. “I guess that’s that.”

Dean grunted a response. His mouth was full, because he was shoveling food in every time he worried about this afternoon. It was Sunday - he’d been at Cas’s a full week. In which time he’d had a sexuality crisis, seen his entire life go to hell, and possibly helped save a mine at which hundreds of people, including his father, worked. And, it was Sunday - family Sunday. 

It seemed stupid to go when things were just going to be as crappy as they’d been yesterday. Dad wasn’t a man to forgive and forget. And now there’d be Sam as a witness - he could already picture the exact shade of bitchface he’d get for _Dean and Dad are fighting again_. But how could he not go? He’d given Sammy shit about it last week. And not going was cowardly.

“You look deep in thought,” Cas said. 

Dean shook his head a little, keeping his eyes on his plate, and finished chewing. “Not looking forward to today.”

“Today?”

“Hanging out with my brother and my old man,” he said, gesturing sarcastically with his fork as he concluded, “Family Sunday.”

“Ah,” Cas nodded, and was silent. Dean watched him mentally compose something else to say, and saw the minute he realized it would be futile and closed without saving. When had Cas started to understand him this well? When had he become so fluent in _Castiel_? 

He was so distracted he missed Cas leaning in slowly until Dean’s eyes were level with his chin. He dropped a small, quick kiss on Dean’s forehead before pulling back and standing up, his plate clean. “I’ll see you tonight,” he said, and left the room. 

With today’s kiss out of the way - forfeit, really - Dean should have been relieved. He stabbed his eggs with renewed anger.

***

The white clapboard of the Winchester house spat the harsh midday sun back onto Baby’s hood when Dean pulled up. Her tires crunched on the loosely-packed gravel slowly, before creaking to a stop.

Through the fraying mesh of the front window, Dean could clearly see Dad and Sammy’s silhouettes braced toward each other angrily. He sighed and slumped in his seat. Snatches of their conversation carried over the drone of the cicadas, _What could_ and Don’t think and _You won’t even tell_.

A sweeping curtain of hair - _god_ , Sammy - signalled that his brother had seen the Impala in the driveway. Dean got out slowly while Sam crashed down the front stairs. 

“Dean!” he said. “Dad said you weren’t -” He paused when Dean slammed the door and turned to face him. “Your eye - what the hell happened?”

“Fight with some losers in town,” Dean shrugged. “No big.”

Sam squinted the squint of the disbelieving or perhaps just mildly annoyed. “Well, something’s eating Dad.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Dean said, throwing an arm around his brother’s skinny shoulders. “C’mon, I’m starving.”

Dean’s pluckiest attitude and highest grade denial could not salvage it from being the tensest lunch ever. Dad made polite conversation with Sam and Dean didn’t meet Dad’s eyes when he passed him the salt and no conversation Sam couldn’t weigh in on lasted more than a sentence and it took Sammy all of two minutes to notice. So he lended his aggrieved sighs to their awkwardness symphony and they ate to the strained melody for a full eleven minutes.

On minute twelve, Sam threw down his sandwich and announced in a clipped voice he probably thought sounded mature, “I’m getting out of here.”

“Sammy, wait,” Dean said. His father chewed placidly.

“What’s the point, Dean?” Sammy said outside. “If you guys are just going to grunt at me and ignore each other and pretend I can’t tell what’s going on, why should I even be here?”

“Look, I didn’t think you’d - it’s fine,” Dean said. “There was some - people are talking shit about me. About being up at the Bough.” Sam was squinting at him again. “Me and - and Cas, they’re saying we -”

“Oh,” Sam said. “Ew.” Dean’s stomach dropped. Sammy seemed to see it on his face and said, “Wait - are you - you two aren’t - ?”

Dean scrunched up his face in a caricature of disgust. “No, Sammy, come on. Dad and I just got in a fight about it, that’s all.”

Sam was quiet for a moment. It struck Dean that his brother seemed most mature when he wasn’t grasping for it so hard. “Dean,” Sammy said. “That’s really fucked up.” For a second Dean thought he was talking about the rumors again, and his face heated. Sam continued, “For Dad to react that way. I mean, it’s the twenty-first century.” Aaaannnnd liberal arts Sammy made a reappearance. “I’m not saying I _want_ to hear anything about your gross love life, but -”

Dean punched him hard on the shoulder and Sam retaliated by grabbing him around the waist, and they went down kicking and punching into a cloud of dust. “There’s nothing to hear!” Dean grumped, face pressed into the dry grass.

***

The sun had set when Cas heard the rumble of the Impala pass by. It was a soothing sound, like the fear and tension had leached out of the day along with the heat. Dean seemed to agree, loose and happy when he knocked on Cas’s door before coming in.

“How was... family...” He trailed off when he noticed the grass stains, dust, and scrapes that covered Dean’s shirt and skin.

“Great,” Dean breathed through a big smile. Cas grinned uncertainly.

“Great! Well, I have some news,” he said, standing up from his desk. “We are going on a trip!”

“A trip?” Dean frowned. “Wait, we?”

“I have an errand to run in Denver.”

“Dude, it stops being an “errand” when you cross state lines.”

“That’s exactly my point!” Cas’s enthusiasm was not as infectious as he had hoped. “It’ll be fun! Have you ever been?”

“To Denver? Uh, no,” Dean said disdainfully. “Skiing’s not really my thing.”

“Oh, it’s much more than that,” Cas said. “Bars, restaurants, museums. We’ll have fun.”

Dean’s face had gotten stuck in a scowl at _museums_. “Yeah, well, you have a blast, Cas, but I think I’ll just stay here,” he said. 

Cas’s smile widened and he shook his head. “I don’t think so. Our deal, remember? You have to live _with me_. I didn’t say where.”

Dean gaped. He stared at Cas, and as he did his expression melted into something more than just kneejerk cantankerousness. Cas’s smile faded. Dean swallowed and said quietly, “They’ll think I’m running away.”

Cas tucked his chin downward, a half-nod that was acknowledgement but not acquiescence. “Let them. You aren’t.”

Dean opened his mouth and visibly shuffled through several potential excuses before deciding on, “I won’t be able to get time off work.”

Cas whipped out his phone. “Call Bobby. _On speaker_ ,” He emphasized. 

Dean glared at him. He waited.

Dean batted Cas’s hand away and tossed his own phone onto the desk after dialing the number. One ring, and an already-disappointed “What,” floated up from the phone.

“Hey Bobby,” Dean said, looking Cas in the eye. “Quick thing. There’s no chance I can have the next -” Cas mouthed _week_ , “the next _week_ off, starting tomorrow, is there?”

“Are you touched, boy? You haven’t taken a vacation in twenty years, and you just had a helluva week.” Dean’s smile turned into a blink of surprise. “You’ve earned a break. Go spend some time with that Davies kid, and don’t tell me a thing about it when you come back.” Dean’s face flushed an immediate and painful red. Cas smirked.

Dean hung up without replying and stuffed his phone in his pocket as if that would erase the conversation. Cas allowed him the gesture and said, “Now that that’s settled, go pack. We’ll only be gone for a few days. And don’t worry about liquids or anything, there are no restrictions on a private jet.”

Dean’s eyes widened alarmingly. “Woah woah woah. No jets. We do this, we’re taking Baby.”

“Road trip?” Cas asked. “That could be... agreeable.”

“Agreeable?” Dean’s big, breathtaking grin was back. “Man, you haven’t lived.”

*** 

They left at ten AM. Cas had opened with some nonsense about “taking a turn” on the Impala, which Dean shut down with a look he’d honed to perfection on Sam. The guy had fucked up an Aston Martin (not physically, but being a douchebag counted), there was no way he had earned a spin on Baby.

“So Denver’s about eight hours away,” Dean said when they had finally gotten out on the open road, a pleasant breeze streaming in where his window was rolled down. “I figure we stop around lunchtime, get in six or seven.”

“Sounds good,” Cas said, tapping away at his phone. Dean frowned.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up places we could stop for lunch.”

Without moving his eyes from the road, Dean grabbed the phone and chucked it into the back seat. Cas gave a half-formed cry of injustice. “You seriously need to learn about real life. Spontaneity? Adventure? Finding a greasy spoon in the middle of nowhere that’s not on Zagat?”

“I was on Yelp,” Cas said evenly.

“Yeah, well, welcome to road tripping,” Dean said, turning Metallica up. “Sit back and enjoy.”

Grumbled predictions of food poisoning dwindled into half-hearted complaints about the music which eventually faded beneath the whistle of the wind and the car’s low, familiar growl. Flat plains and fields stretched out all around them, the sun baking the road to the perfect temperature to counteract the chill of the breeze. Dean felt his mind slipping into that hazy idyllic roadtrip place - calmed by the sight of Baby’s hood eating up miles of soft asphalt beneath her, the rhythmic hum of the tires, and the smooth rumble of the engine.

Beside him, Cas seemed equally slack, black hair fluttering, full lips relaxed, then parted as he began to snore. There was something easy about eyelids being down over those big blue eyes, Dean finally out of his ever-present sight - easy, and nerveless. His lithe body sprawled over the seat, head nodding against the window. He was actually, to his credit, dressed right for once - sneakers, cargo shorts, and light blue collared shirt. He even looked like he was starting to get a tan, though that was probably just his natural color coming back now that he seemed to have sobered up.

It was a jarring change from who usually sat in that seat. Him, when Dad was driving, because Dad always drove. Sam when Dad wasn’t there, always with a vaguely resentful air, not just about not driving but about where they were going in particular. New town, new school, new job - Sam measured their lives against some ideal Dean couldn’t see, and always found it wanting. Cas, for all his griping, seemed genuinely _excited_ to go on a roadtrip with Dean. He couldn’t remember the last time Sam had been that pumped to hang out with him - in comparison, Cas was like a kid in a candy shop. Even if the candy, in this metaphor, was sex with Dean.

When his stomach started grumbling Dean deemed in lunch time, and tooled around an exit long enough to find an acceptable-looking diner. He shoved Cas awake and the guy sputtered and blinked and wiped spit off his stubbled cheek and it was _not_ adorable.

Cas beheld the cheap vinyl menus and their chain-smoking waitress with the same look on his face he’d had when he’d first bitten into a burger. He ordered another one, and a milkshake, and onion rings, and jalapeño poppers, and Dean wondered if this was Cas the indulger in all things extravagant or Cas the straight-A student creating a meaningful sample size. Their knees pressed together under the table, hot and distracting. Cas’s eyes flickered to his, then down again.

“Footise?” Dean asked, aiming for mocking. “What is this, a date?” 

“It can be anything you want it to be,” Cas said, sucking on his straw. His eyes lit up at something over Dean’s shoulder, and he turned to take in the classic, refurbished jukebox on the opposite wall. Cas was practically bouncing in his seat.

“You wanna play some tunes?” He asked.

“I’ve never actually seen a jukebox before.” Dean frowned, and Cas asked, “What?”

“I’m just remembering Original Flavor Cas,” Dean said. “Reeking of pot and ranting something about gongs.”

“Aw, you’re nostalgic for our first meeting?” Cas’s words were sarcastic, but his cheeks were pink. 

“You’ve got two modes, that’s all,” Dean said. “Robot, and... psycho. No in between, nothing you’ve done you haven’t done into the ground.”

“What can I say?” Cas asked, back in control of his twisted smile. “I don’t do anything by halves.”

Cas’s experiment was a success if the sounds he made when their food was delivered were any indication. Dean chewed happily and watched him, some strange warm contentment filling his chest with each new discovery he watched Cas catalogue away in that computer of a brain. Cas noticed his attention, but Dean couldn’t muster the energy to be embarrassed. After another one of their mutual stare-offs (which, Dean worried, were starting to become a _thing_ ) Cas leaned forward and carefully brushed the edge of Dean’s lip with his thumb.

Dean held still, not breathing. Cas’s hand drew back, revealing a swipe of red on his thumb. “Ketchup,” Cas said, his voice a little breathy. The fact that there hadn’t been a kiss yet today strolled into the forefront of Dean’s mind. Was Cas going to go easy on him again, like he had with the kiss yesterday? Or had that been a one-time thing? It wasn’t the Dean Winchester way to take pity, but it also wasn’t the Dean Winchester way to ignore an advantage when he had one.

It _definitely_ wasn’t the Dean Winchester way to think yesterday’s was a pale substitute for some other kisses he could remember.

“I’ve wanted to do this,” Cas said.

“Wipe ketchup off my lip?” Dean asked dumbly.

Cas gave an exasperated smirk - _not_ cute - and said, “Go out with you. We mostly stay in, and our few treks into Lawrence haven’t exactly been for fun. I actually wanted to go to the Roadhouse with you, but...”

Dean’s eyebrows were in his hairline. He’d seen lush!Cas at the Roadhouse, and he couldn’t imagine robot!Cas there under any circumstances. “But?”

Cas didn’t meet his eyes. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Really?” Dean asked, laying on the sarcasm. “ _You_ didn’t want to make _me_ uncomfortable.”

Cas glared at him. “ _More_ uncomfortable.”

Dean shifted in his seat. “Yeah, well. I guess after Andrea I don’t exactly want to seem like I’m going on a _date_ in front of the whole town.”

Cas gave a tight smile and said, “This is nice, anyway.” He chewed more and seemed to consider. “And you don’t know anyone in Denver, right? So we can go out there, hit some bars, have a good time.”

The words would have sounded skeezy coming from anyone else, but from Cas in robot mode they sounded almost innocent. Dean could picture them, at another table like this but with lights low, drinks flowing, music playing. It was a cliché even in his mind. It didn’t stop it from seeming appealing.

But fantasy Dean was still Dean, and he shut Cas down at every turn, refused the absurd drinks Cas kept ordering for him. _Denver’s a big city_ , Dean thought, _there must be hundreds more gay guys there than in Lawrence_. He could picture some male-model type tapping on an exasperated Cas’s shoulder in the bar. Cas would settle the check, take his kiss of the day by pecking Dean on the cheek, and leave with the handsome stranger.

That would mean Dean had won, right?

Cas was smiling at him, fried onion hanging out of his mouth. Dean rolled his eyes and tugged on it, and Cas laughed and squirmed and the jukebox sang quietly in the background.


	8. Chapter 8

The artificial glow of a city at night should have bothered Dean, but he was surprised how much he liked Denver: twinkling lights against the navy blue sky, parks sidled up against restaurants and stores, streets packed with people - claustrophobia done well. Things started to get a little chrome and skyscraper-y as they approached the hotel Cas had picked, of course, because it was the kind of place that made Dean’s mouth go dry just at the thought of how expensive it was. An old money kind of place - _kind of like Cas_ , Dean thought - the edifice and lobby and elevator weren’t ostentatious, just lush. Well-appointed. Well-fed.

The keycard lock beeped just as Dean had started to worry about what _type_ of room Cas had gotten - single bed? - but his thoughts scattered as the thick door swung open, revealing an expansive, cozily decorated living room with floor-to-ceiling views of the city. He wandered in, bag slung over his shoulder, admiring. “Uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“This place come with beds?” Bed _s_.

Cas smiled and pushed open a door on the east side of the room, revealing a room with two queen beds. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. Cas nodded to a door opposite. “That’ll be the master suite, I think.”

Dean smirked at him. “That’s yours, I suppose?”

Cas pushed the other door open and grinned at the sight of a massive king bed nearly five feet off the ground. He turned and wiggled his eyebrows at Dean. “Want to help me break it in?”

Dean frowned. Something about Cas’s tone was bothering him. It was like - like the teasing was for _his_ benefit. Like Cas wasn’t laughing at Dean’s discomfort, or genuinely trying to entice him, but mocking the idea of them being together, at all.

So Cas was still in Pity mode, then. Humoring him. Treating Dean with kid gloves, like if he handled him too cavalierly, he’d _break_.

“Dean?” Cas had clearly noticed his stormy silence.

“You can stop doing that,” Dean bit out. “I’m over it, okay? The thing with Andrea. I’m fine.”

“You’re over it?” Cas asked, stepping closer. Dean’s temper seemed to have ignited his own. “Forgive me for giving you too much space, Dean. I must have been confused by that _black eye_ of yours.”

Dean touched his cheek self-consciously. He’d gotten a glimpse in the diner bathroom earlier today - it was already fading to mostly yellow and green, with tiny islands of muddy purple. Guess the bank assholes weren’t as tough as they thought.

He scowled at Cas. “I don’t need your pity. So you can stuff your jokes, your sad little looks you think I can’t see, and your stupid waived kisses.”

Cas stiffened. “I didn’t waive yesterday’s kiss.”

“Oh, so it just sucked all on its own then?”

Cas inhaled through his teeth, then closed his eyes and seemed to forcibly relax himself. Dean felt a little frisson of excitement that had rushed through him sigh and dissipate. Cas wasn’t angry anymore.

He opened his eyes and took a step closer to Dean, then another. Dean was struck again how odd it was to be - well, _involved_ with someone who was almost his height. Toe to toe, Cas’s eyes were just an inch or two below his own. It was strange, stirring Dean’s fight-or-flight and protective instincts at the same time.

Cas gazed up at him, anger tamped down under control, frustration, and, yes, pity. Heat was rolling off his body. “I’m sorry you’re upset,” he said lowly. “I’ll try to make this one memorable.”

He rose on his toes and pressed his lips softly to the tender, swollen skin under Dean’s eye. His breath was hot on Dean’s face, making the rest of him shiver in comparison. He lingered a moment, then pulled back, and Dean realized that was it - another fucking pity kiss. 

Unacceptable.

Dean grabbed Cas by the back of the neck and dragged Cas’s mouth to his. Cas gasped and Dean swallowed it, using his other hand to pull Cas in by the small of his back until they were just shy of full contact. 

Now that the uncertainty about and unfamiliarity of kissing a dude were well and truly gone, Dean felt in control of himself for the first time in days. He was back to his usual self. And his usual self? Was a damn good kisser.

His tongue massaged Cas’s lower lip before his teeth followed with a rolling little bite. Cas gasped again and his mouth fell open wider. Dean took the invitation, letting their tongues touch briefly before pulling back. 

He felt Cas’s hands fisting in his shirt and he let his own wander over Cas’s back and skull, gentle strokes that had Cas twisting up with impatience. He held in a chuckle and gave Cas what he wanted, kissing him deeply, holding him tighter, rubbing their bodies together. He dimly registered that they were leaning against... something. 

When he’d decided that the point had been sufficiently made, he disentangled himself from Cas’s lips. His dick lodged several protests, but he was used to his reaction to Cas now. He could control it.

In his arms, Cas looked completely fucked. Hair _deservedly_ tousled for once, lips red and panting, eyes - fuck. He looked... _kissable_ , an unhelpful corner of his brain shouted.

_Doable!_ Another part of his anatomy added.

“Eh, it was okay,” Dean said, amazed he had been able to keep the thread of the conversation. Cas was clearly having more difficulty. By the time Dean had stepped away entirely, he seemed to have gotten it. His face flushed and his eyes darkened with anger.

“Glad that’s settled,” Dean said, when it was clear Cas had no response. He picked up his bag, gave Cas a little salute, and headed for the small bedroom and slammed the door.

Being a dick to his hookups: definitely the old Dean Winchester.

***

Dean had entertained himself by checking off every option on the breakfast doorhanger, and he was pleased when he came into the living room in his fluffy hotel bathrobe the next morning to discover that the kitchen had taken his request seriously: Cas’s stink-eye was just barely visible behind a mountain of breakfast foods.

Dean sat down, satisfied, and began filling his plate. Cas was hanging up his cell phone. “That’s disappointing,” he said.

“What?”

“My appointment had to be rescheduled to tomorrow.”

Dean spoke through a full mouth. “What, your “errand”?”

“Yes.”

Dean shrugged. “I guess we have a day to burn.”

“Well,” Cas said, “I did have something else planned I was going to save for later, but...”

“Please, not a museum,” Dean whined.

Cas grinned. “More like... a place of worship.”

They set off on foot after Cas had fussed over his phone for about twenty minutes making sure he had the right directions. Downtown Denver was cute - as Dean had thought during their ride in the night before, it had kind of a small town feel to it, just multiplied in scope a few thousand times. Cas led them down leafy streets and past parks full of people their age playing with kids and dogs. 

As they rounded a corner, a delicious smell assaulted Dean’s nostrils, and Cas clearly noticed because he smiled mischieviously. They walked halfway up the block and stopped in front of a little bakery beneath a faded blue sign. “In here,” Cas nodded.

The place was light and airy, walls painted a buttery yellow. There were a surprising number of tables scattered around the main display counter - this was clearly a place people came to stay and savor. Dean’s mouth was watering already.

Cas found them a table by the window. “What is this place?” Dean asked.

“One of the best bakeries in the country,” Cas said, “according to Food & Wine.” He gave Dean a sly look. “Known for their pie.”

Dean’s jaw dropped, but before he could come up with a reply a shortish guy sidled up to the table and whipped out a notepad. 

“Hey guys, welcome to the Happy Mermaid, my name is Aaron, I’ll be serving you today,” he said. “Y’all been here before?”

“Actually, we have not,” Cas said. “We heard you have some good pie.”

“Hell yeah we do,” Aaron smiled. “What’re you interested in?”

“What do you have?”

Aaron took a deep breath. Dean’s heart fluttered. In a near-robotic tone, he recited: “Grandma’s Apple, She’s My Cherry, Key Lime, Lemon Silk, Pumpkin, Blackberry, Blueberry, Four Berry, Chocolate Cream, Buckeye (that’s chocolate cream with peanut-butter cups),” he clarified, “S’mores, Salted Caramel, Shoo-Fly, Peach, Banana Cream, Strawberry Rhubarb, Brown Sugar Sweet Potato, and,” he gasped for breath, “my personal favorite - Bourbon Pecan.”

Dean was completely frozen. He tried to move his facial muscles but achieved nothing except a sheen of drool collecting on his lower lip. Cas answered for him. “I think we’d like a slice of each, please.”

“Sure, coming right up!” Aaron replied, as if ordering eighteen slices of pie was commonplace around these parts. Maybe it was.

“Oh, and some ice cream and some drinks,” Cas added over his shoulder.

Dean’s mouth was working again, but just barely. “Cas. What. Why -”

“You told me you loved pie,” Cas shrugged. “And we were going to be here, so...” he trailed off, suddenly looking nervous. “Is this okay?”

“Is this okay?” Dean echoed. “Dude - I -” He swallowed too much drool and started choking, but Cas was smiling as he pounded him on the back.

The table was almost too small to hold every plate that was brought out, but they managed. Cas asked Dean which he was most excited to try and made sure to stay away from those dishes while Dean had the first bite. Cas had been right - it was a religious experience.

Eighteen bites of eighteen different pies probably added up to way more pie than one should eat in a single sitting, and that was before Dean honed in on his favorites and started having additional bites. He fell back in his chair after swiping the last bit of gritty-thick amber filling off a now-empty plate in both intense pain and satisfaction.

“That seemed like your favorite,” Cas observed, with the amused detachment of someone who had eaten an embarrassingly average amount of pie. “Which was it?”

“Beardy dude was right,” Dean replied. “Bourbon Pecan.” He sucked on his fingertip, and made a noise he would probably be ashamed of in a more lucid state. “This is... this is...”

“Better than sex?” Cas asked innocently.

Dean narrowed his eyes at him. He was spared an answer when a cute brunette came up to their table.

“Hey guys,” she said. “I’m Lisa, I own this place. I heard you ordered all the pies, so I wanted to come out and say hi.” She smiled, warm and lovely.

“Lisa,” Dean said. “I think I love you.”

She threw her head back and laughed, beautiful. Dean would almost certainly have been trying to get her number if Cas wasn’t here. He checked quickly, almost out of habit, and saw that her hand was bare. Then he wondering if Cas had noticed him checking, and felt queasy. Probably the pie.

Cas’s attention seemed focused on Lisa. “Great to meet you,” he said warmly. “Your desserts are exquisite.”

“Well, thank you,” she said. “You should come around more often.”

“We’re from out of town, I’m afraid,” Cas said. “I was actually wondering - would you mind jotting down the recipe for the Bourbon Pecan? It was Dean’s favorite.”

Dean blushed, but Lisa just said “Sure!” and went back to the kitchen to get a pen.

“Why’d you ask for the recipe?” Dean asked.

“So I can give it to Benny, and he can make one for you whenever you want,” Cas explained, as if this were obvious.

Dean’s heart felt like it had stopped in his chest. He suddenly had a vision of himself living with Cas for real - not as a bet or a deal or a plan. He could see Cas surprising him with this kind of stuff, learning his quirks and his favorites, working these things into his daily routine. Living with someone who cared about his mundane shit that much. It seemed... lovely. His heart thumped back to life again, pitter-pattering.

_Shit._

***

They spent the rest of the afternoon wandering through town, window shopping and poking around. In a pretentious men’s clothing store Dean made Cas try on a pair of aviators and regretted it when Cas looked alarmingly hot (he made him buy them anyway). In a thrift store they took turns turns trying on cowboy hats and moccasins and dusty tiaras and flasher trenchcoats and what was billed as a “wolf’s tooth” necklace. When Dean noticed an 80s’-style arcade game in a pizza place, Cas bought a soda so Dean could play on the machine and tell an old story about Sam being terrified of Donkey Kong when he was 4. Dean dragged Cas into a matinee of Thor when they needed a break and talked the whole time about how Darcy was the only worthwhile one, one-liner- or hotness-wise. Cas rolled his eyes and stole Dean’s popcorn.

When the sun set they found a bar and grille that was mostly bar for dinner. “Aren’t you drying out?” Dean asked dubiously as they grabbed stools.

“Yes, but I’m not in AA or anything,” Cas said. “C’mon, we’re in the big city, we’re out on the town. Let’s have fun!”

Dean glanced around the bar. It bore little to no resemblance to what he had envisioned yesterday when Cas had mentioned going out - it was mostly brick, lowly lit but no glitter, lasers, or fog. _That’s what I pictured as a gay bar?_ he thought wryly. _I’m kind of homophobic. Is that even possible, now that I’m... ?_ Christ. What _was_ he? Bicurious? Heteroflexible? Indiscriminate? The potential labels were making him vaguely sick. Or maybe that was look of the drink Cas had set in front of him. “What _is_ that?”

“A purple nurple,” Cas announced happily. “Try it!”

“ _Hell_ no,” Dean said. “You try it.”

“Fine,” Cas said. “But if I do it, you have to do a...” his eye scanned the menu. “... a nuts’n’berries.”

Dean considered. “Purple nurple, please.”

And so began the most ignominious gross-shot-off in history. After a barrage of grasshoppers, cement mixers, and dirty oatmeals, Cas started to get a little loopy. “I finally got you out to dinner,” he told Dean, giggling, head precariously balanced on his palm.

“Dude, this was,” he paused to burp, “drinks with a side of dinner.”

Cas wasn’t listening, too busy flagging down the bartender for their next round of disgusting shots. Dean’s eye was caught by a woman across the room - a cute little redhead nursing a beer. He started a little when he realized she was looking at Cas - and the strip of skin that was showing on his back as he leaned forward across the bar. Huh. Well, there was one thing he’d gotten right in his daydream. In point of fact, Dean might have noticed people checking Cas out all day - while shopping, at the movies. He wasn’t even sure Aaron at the heavenly pie place hadn’t been giving him the elevator eyes. 

But Cas didn’t seem to notice. In fact, he was staring at Dean with this buzzed, dopey look on his face as he put the latest shots in front of them. Like Dean drinking gross booze was the funniest thing ever. Like Dean was his whole world. Dean smiled and did his shot, something milky and sour and horrible. Cas was laughing in that throaty, unrestrained way that’s half drooling. 

“Alright, I’m throwing in the towel,” he said, prompting a theatrical pout from Cas. “Let’s go home.”

***

They had mostly sobered up by the time they reached the hotel, the only lingering sign of their night out that Cas was having a hard time controlling his giggling. When they reached their room, the front door was ajar. Everything stopped being funny. 

He exchanged a nervous glance with Dean - would there really be a break-in at a luxury hotel? - and pushed the door all the way open. The main room seemed undisturbed, but the door to Cas’s room was open, and there was a crinkling sound coming from inside.

Cas exchanged another look with Dean, and picked up a paperweight from a desk in the corner. Together they crept forward, toward the doorway, flattened against the wall, leaned around the corner, and saw -

A man sitting crosslegged on Cas’s bed, an infant at his knee, candy wrappers strewn all over the sheets.

The paperweight hit the carpeted floor with a dull _thunk_. “Gabriel?” Cas asked disgustedly.

“Cassy!” Gabriel picked the child up and vaulted out of the bed gracefully, obnoxiously cheerful expression plastered over his face. “Why did I have to find out you were in town from my spies?”

“Spies?” Cas heard from behind him. 

“Oh boy,” Gabriel said, looking Dean up and down in an unflattering way.

“Uh, Dean, this is my brother Gabriel,” Cas explained. Dean’s face did not grow less confused or appalled. “Gabriel, my... friend, Dean.”

“Great, I always love meeting _friends_ of Cas’s,” Gabe said, “Especially in front of my infant son. Speaking of which, Cassy, I know how devastated you’ve been not to be able to meet your nephew before today -”

“I liked the facebook album.”

“Sammy,” Gabriel said to his son, “this is your uncle Castiel. Cassy, Samandriel.”

The baby had light brown skin, deep brown hair, amber eyes, and seemed to be smirking. From what Cas had heard about babies, it probably meant he was defecating. He wasn’t sure on the whole what to make of kids. Eventually he settled on, “He’s cute.”

Gabriel stared at him flatly. “Your affection is overwhelming.”

“Seriously, Gabe,” Cas said, “what are you doing here?”

Dean piped up, his voice uncertain. “Uh, I can leave you guys alone, if...”

“No, not at all,” Gabriel said smoothly. “I’d love to hear more about you, Dean. How did you and Castiel meet?”

“He lives in Lawrence,” Cas said tersely.

“Ah, yes, Lawrence,” Gabriel said. “I never did understand why Mom and Pop wanted a house in _Kansas_ , but hey, I don’t control the purse strings. Oh, before I forget,” he said, shifting Samandriel and pulling his phone out of his pocket, “Kali wanted a picture of you with the baby, so -”

Before Cas knew what was happening Samandriel was squirming in his arms, and Gabe was smiling delightedly and backing up to take a picture. Cas struggled to find some sort of grip on the baby that would work to their mutual satisfaction, and Gabriel’s flash went off halfway through. “Perfect!” He announced.

Cas felt dampness spreading on his shoulder, and saw a guilty expression crossing Samandriel’s face. “Ugh.”

Gabriel just laughed, pocketing his phone. “Yeah, that happens sometimes. I can -”

“Here, I got him,” Dean said instead, transferring the baby to his arms as if this was an easy maneuver. Samandriel went without protest, glomming onto Dean like some kind of demented sea creature. Cas took the reprieve and went into the bathroom to wipe off his shirt.

He dimly heard Gabe in the other room saying, “Really, you don’t have to -” a pause, and then, “Huh. You’re alright with kids.”

“I spent a lot of time helping out with my little brother.”

Cas leaned back just far enough to see them through the bathroom door frame. Dean was holding the baby naturally, staring at him with a strange look on his face. As he watched, Samandriel reached up with a tiny hand and tapped Dean’s temple. Dean smiled. Something jolted through Cas’s heart, swift and painful.

“Oh yeah?” Gabe was saying. “So, what do you do, Dean?”

“Mechanic. You?”

“I ruin people’s lives, mostly.”

“I thought that was your parents’ thing.”

“Oh, I split off from them ages ago.”

“Not really,” Cas said, walking back into the room.

“Well, we can’t all take the fallen angel route,” Gabe smirked at Cas. “Some of us have families to consider.”

“Gabriel,” Cas said sternly. “Why are you here?”

“I missed ya, Cas,” he said. “I wanted to catch up.” It was possible he was telling the truth; there was slightly less mischief dancing in his eyes than normal.

“And I should let you guys do that,” Dean said, handing Samandriel back to Gabe.

“Stay,” his brother protested. “All I’ve learned so far is you’re apparently good with cars, kids, and Cas.”

“That’s pretty much it,” Dean smiled tightly. “I’m beat, I’ll hit the hay and let you two catch up.”

He nodded to Gabriel and headed for the door. “Gabe, I’ll be one second,” Cas said, and followed him, shutting the door behind him firmly.

Dean was almost to his room, but turned around when he heard Cas follow him. “You didn’t think I’d let you escape without today’s kiss, did you?” He asked.

Dean grinned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t forget.”

Yesterday, Cas had been slightly unprepared for Dean to be so... enthused. After Dean had pulled away he’d fought a very ignoble impulse to steal a second kiss, rules bedamned, and Dean’s slammed door had taunted him. Going to sleep had been - frustrating, and he’d carried that frustration with him all day, low and simmering. Now, as he backed Dean up against the wall, he vowed to even the score. 

He kissed Dean first on the side of his neck, earning a low, satisfied rumble. He knifed the fingers of one hand through Dean’s hair, using his other to pull their bodies together, softly at first, then harder and tighter. His mouth moved up to Dean’s ear, and he ran his tongue lightly along the outer edge of sensitive skin, then further in, where he guessed -

Dean made a surprised, urgent noise, and turned his face to bring their mouths together. Cas kissed him, slow and drugging, scoring the back of Dean’s neck with his nails, pressing forward until he could feel Dean’s heartbeat, until the gasping motion of their chests was the only thing keeping them separated. He chased Dean’s tongue with his, reveling in the hot slide of pleasure when he caught it, and a hand stole under Dean’s shirt to rub the smooth, warm skin of his back. Dean _mmm_ d and palmed Cas’s ass, pulling their hips together sharply, too many layers of denim but still the distinct, mind-melting feel of Dean’s hard-on against his.

Cas gasped and forced one of his hands off Dean’s body to fumble at his doorknob. “Your room, let’s go.”

“What about Gabriel?” Dean murmured into his lips.

“He’ll - _mm_ \- figure it out.”

“C’mon, Cas,” Dean said throatily, his voice a thick tease even as his body arched into Cas’s. “You can’t ditch your brother, ‘specially if you haven’t seen him in a while.”

Cas drew his head back from Dean’s neck shakily. His skin was so warm against Cas’s hands, his stupid motor oil-sugar- _Dean_ smell clouding his brain. _Honor_ , Cas reminded himself. _That’s a_ stop. _Hands off_.

He forced himself to take a step backwards. Dean sagged a bit against the wall. His eyes were teasing, but his chest heaved and his face was flushed. Cas decided it best to not look at him - shirt savagely askew, no, _don’t look_ \- and said stiffly, “Good night, Dean.”

“Night, Cas,” Dean said lowly, and, once again, shut the damn door behind him.

Cas took a moment before he returned to his own bedroom. Gabriel waited until he had closed the door before greeting him with a blunt, “Please tell me you’re paying that boy.”

“What?” Cas scowled. “Why?”

“Because you didn’t go from stuff that was making _Anna_ blush to weekend trips with a sweetie overnight,” Gabriel said, as Samandriel sat in his lap and played with his tie. “Whatever you’re doing with that guy, I hope it’s a clear-headed business arrangement.”

Cas sighed and dropped into a chair. “I’m doing him a favor.”

“A favor,” Gabriel said flatly. “In exchange for... ?”

Cas glared. “In exchange for nothing!”

“The kind of nothing you do up against hotel room walls before Dean goes to bed?”

Cas shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the baby. “You’re not worried about corrupting your son?”

Gabriel tilted his head to face Samandriel. “Son, when you grow up, don’t extort other nice boys or girls into sex in exchange for “favors”, whatever that means.”

“I’m not extorting him!” Cas said, then shook his head and stared out the window moodily. “How is this any of your business?”

“I’m your brother, and I care,” Gabriel said.

“Really?” Cas said scathingly. “The family card?”

“Don’t be a bag of dicks,” Gabe snapped. “I’m not mom and dad.”

“No, you just spied on me and broke into my hotel room.”

“Fine,” Gabriel said, gripping Samandriel tightly in preparation to stand. “I’m sorry I came.”

“Wait,” Cas said, and sighed. For all of Gabriel’s faults, he _wasn’t_ their parents. And his son was cute. And his wife would, at least, be the source of several amusing stories with Gabriel as the punchline. “How have Kali and Samandriel been?”

Gabriel grinned, and Cas settled into his chair as he began what sounded like a tale that would take all night.


	9. Chapter 9

In what was becoming something of a habit, Cas took his phone out from his pocket and opened the photo gallery. He didn’t take many photos - really, he barely used his phone - so there, on top, was the picture Dean had made them take on their way back from Denver, when they’d stopped at the World’s Largest Easel. Dean had a big, stupid smile on his face, and Cas looked happy in spite of himself. It had to have been the hundredth time Cas had looked at the photo, and it still provided a little hum of warmth under his skin.

On their second full day in Denver Cas had finally managed to attend the appointment that had brought him there in the first place, Dean tagging along with unbridled curiosity. The factory was technically outside the city limits, but it had been a quick twenty minute ride, and the presentation along the factory floor was quick and efficient, answering most of Cas’s questions and affording him the chance to see the massive machinery up-close. Dean had waited until the salesman had left them alone in an office overlooking the plant to ask, “Okay, Cas, the crap is this?”

“They’re remote-controlled hydraulic pillars,” Cas had explained. “For the mine. When the miners begin drilling into a section of coal that supports the roof overhead, these supports are brought in to stabilize the load, and only once the miners have left do the hydraulics release. The mine can then cave-in safely.”

Dean had stared him inscrutably. “Robots,” he’d finally said. “You’re buying robots for the mine.”

“Yes.”

Dean’s goofy smile had lit something inside Cas. “Robots,” he’d repeated, gleeful. Cas had known he should have saved it for later, but he’d been unable to resist reeling Dean in and kissing his smiling mouth. He’d let himself enjoy it for probably longer than was advisable in a factory full of hundreds of workers, and Dean’s dazed, uncomprehending look when he’d finally pulled back had chased him to bed that night.

The next day, as they had begun their trip home, Dean had launched his crusade on behalf of Americana, insisting that it wasn’t a true road trip unless they went out of their way a little. That was how the stop at the World’s Largest Easel had come about (complete with commemorative, bite-sized easel), a lingering lunch at a diner where the food was brought by restaurant-wide train, a stop at a Native American-themed knick-knack store where Dean had convinced Cas to buy a tiny ceramic bird figurine for mysterious reasons, and the stop at a dubious motel for the night because all of Dean’s excursions had turned a one-day trip into two. Of course, that had led to late-night making out on the garish floral hotel bedspread before being forced to sleep ( _alone_ ) in a lumpy twin bed three feet away. That had been trying.

Since they’d returned to Lawrence days ago, the daily kisses had been like that - sweet and playful, until they started to turn hot and heavy, which was when Dean called them off. Still, it was nice that he was finally comfortable with Cas and with himself - even if this was a holding pattern Cas was going to have to devise a way to break soon if he didn’t want to go completely mad.

The sound of footsteps approaching the dining room broke Cas out of his reverie, and he pocketed his phone quickly. “Mornin’, Cas,” Dean said, yawning a bit on the edge of the words and grabbing a plate.

“Good morning, Dean,” Cas rasped. His reminiscing had left him in a warm mood that wouldn’t fade, and when Dean sat down Cas couldn’t help himself - he turned in his chair and kissed him right there over the table. 

Dean laughed, probably surprised at such an early kiss, but swiftly matched Cas’s enthusiasm. He still tasted of toothpaste. Cas ran a hand over Dean’s shoulder and down his bicep and cursed the table corner that was between them. Improvising, he sat forward in his chair and lowered his hands beneath the table, finding the fabric of Dean’s pants and running his palms up his thighs. 

Dean sucked in a breath and broke off from the kiss, saying, “Think we should stop,” breathlessly.

“Think? You’re not sure?” Cas asked, and caught Dean’s mouth again before he could answer. Dean moaned and shoved his tongue in Cas’s mouth, crushed Cas’s shirt collar in his fist. Cas scratched his nails down Dean’s thighs and gripped his neck, kissing him desperately -

A sharp crash had them both breaking away to stare in the direction of the kitchen, where Benny was frantically trying to clean up the shards of the cup he’d dropped and vanish at the same time. “I’m sorry!” He said, when he caught them looking. “I didn’t mean - I just came in - I’m so sorry.”

“Good,” Cas muttered viciously.

“No worries,” Dean said loudly, sitting back in his chair. “Perfect timing, Benny.”

Cas glared at him. Dean smirked and forked up a mouthful of scrambled eggs. Cas cleared his throat and took a sip of his coffee, trying to force his frustration down. “So,” he eventually said, breaking the awkward sound of Benny bustling in the background, “I got an email from the Denver factory. The hydraulic -”

“Robots?”

“Yes, Dean, the robots - they’re almost done being assembled, they’ll be delivered soon.”

“That’s great,” Dean said. “Is that what this is for?”

He was motioning to the pile of paperwork surrounding Cas’s empty plate. “No, this is information about a local investment opportunity I’m considering.”

“Oh?”

“Turns out there’s a half-built factory on the edge of town that was meant to produce solar panels, but the finances of the parent company fell apart halfway through construction, and it never got off the ground. That was almost ten years ago. A few groups have considered revitalizing it since, but it hasn’t seemed an attractive enough prospect. If I join as a partner...”

“It could get built,” Dean finished. “That’s great, Cas. How many jobs would that create?”

“At least a hundred,” Cas said. “Plus, solar panels are more profitable now than they were when the factory was first built, and they’ll only get more so over the years. If everything else I’m doing for the mine falls through, this could serve as an alternate employer for the miners. One that’ll be safe, if I have anything to say about it.”

Dean smiled broadly. “That’s awesome.”

They shared a happy silence, and then the doorbell rang, startling both of them - Cas couldn’t remember the last time that had happened. Probably the first day Dean had come here, and Cas had been unconscious at the time. “I got it,” Benny said unnecessarily, and jogged toward the foyer. Dean and Cas both eavesdropped as Benny conversed with a feminine voice that gradually got louder and louder, until they distinctly heard “I KNOW HE’S HERE, YOU MOOK, NOW TAKE ME TO ‘IM.”

Dean jumped out of his seat and ran toward the front door. Cas frowned and followed.

In the foyer, a very small blonde woman was glaring up at Benny as if expecting fisticuffs to break out at any moment. Benny glanced helplessly at Dean as he approached, saying, “Dean, this young lady -”

“No lady,” Dean said. “She’s a pain in the butt.”

The woman’s face lit up when she saw Dean, and she launched herself at him. Dean caught her and twirled her around in a hug. Cas’s stomach sank, and he felt a buzzing in the back of his skull.

“All right, all right,” Dean was saying. “Damn, Jo, you’re acting like it’s been a year.”

“It’s been a month!” She shouted.

“A week and change, maybe,” Dean said.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,” The woman - Jo, apparently - said. “I heard you got in a fight in town. I heard people been saying some nasty stuff about you. So you just vanish up here? What the fuck’s going on?”

“Listen, Jo,” he said awkwardly, “I’ll come by the Roadhouse, we’ll -”

“I’m here ‘cause you haven’t _been_ to the Roadhouse in weeks, haven’t you been listening?” Jo yelled. 

“Maybe Benny and I should leave you two to...” Cas trailed off. Benny took the cue and left immediately.

“Oh, uh - Jo, this is Castiel Davies,” Dean said. “Cas, this my friend Jo Harvelle.”

Jo gave him a smile that managed to be threatening and flirtatious at the same time. Cas shook her hand carefully. “Heard a lot about you, Davies,” Jo said. “Maybe you’ll be more forthcoming than Dean-o here about just what he’s doing up here - and why he’s been neglecting his family in town all the while.”

“Clearly, you two need some time to talk,” Cas offered. “I’ll be upstairs.”

He took the stairs two at a time, the urge to turn back and watch them an itch on the back of his neck.

***

“Seriously, Jo?” Dean sighed. “I know I always call you a stalker, but - ?”

Jo pouted. “Your old man may be too spineless to get a straight answer out of you, but a Harvelle woman doesn’t take no for an answer. What’s going on?”

“Beat it,” Dean said.

Jo lowered her voice conspiratorially and nodded to where Cas had just left. “He’s super hot. Are you two... ?”

“Joanna Beth!” Dean shouted in his best impersonation of Ellen. “You’d better -”

“He’s a lot cleaner-looking than I expected,” Jo continued right on. “The things they say about him - but he looks pretty normal. Oh my god. Was he a bad boy until you met? Did you reform him? _Is he taking you to the prom?_ ” 

Dean narrowed his eyes as Jo laughed heartily at her own jokes. When she was finished, she looked him up and down and sighed. “Fine, keep your creepy secrets if you want. But why the hell have you been avoiding everyone in town?”

Dean shuffled his feet guiltily. “Been busy, Jo. I have a lotta -”

“Bull,” Jo said. “We’d all worry a lot less if you were living in the haunted mansion but at least showing up for happy hour, y’know?”

Dean quirked a smile in spite of himself. “You’re just worried the bar’ll close without my business.”

“You’re our biggest customer!” Jo shouted.

***

Cas paced his room, furious at himself and furious at himself for being furious at himself in the first place.

Why had it never occurred to him that Dean might have a girlfriend? That Dean might have a _life_ outside a father he wanted to help and a brother he loved? They’d been spending so much time together over the last few weeks, talking about everything and nothing, it felt like they had really gotten to know each other. And yet the sight of that blonde twig in Dean’s arms - Cas glared at the crumpled paperwork in his fists. 

There was a knock at his door, and Cas jettisoned the ruined papers into the waste basket a second before Dean walked in. Cas attempted a pleasant expression. “How is your friend?”

“Jo’s a handful,” Dean said sheepishly. “I sent her packing. Only so much crazy a man can take in a day, and I already put up with you 24/7, so.” 

Cas managed to huff out a laugh. “Well, she seemed... ” he paused. _Don’t say something stupid. Don’t say something stupid._ “Concerned about you.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, and he broke into a grin. _Fuck._ “You jealous?”

Cas scowled. “Of course not.”

Dean’s smile widened. “Nah,” he said. “Me and Jo, for like half a second we might have been something, but it sizzled pretty quick.”

That should not have been a relief. Of course, just because Jo wasn’t a girlfriend didn’t mean Dean wasn’t with someone else. That he hadn’t been with anyone else while he’d been living here, making out with Cas on virtually every square foot of the mansion.

Once again, Dean seemed to sense Cas’s inner struggle. He smiled serenely, watching him squirm. He clearly wasn’t going to offer up any information that would end Cas’s entertaining display.

Nor would he want to do so to make Cas feel better. That would be absurd.

“Well, I’m glad she came to visit,” Cas said. “You should have her over again, for dinner or something.” Dean shrugged. Before he could reply, Cas said, “I have some calls to make. About the mine, and, uh...”

“Oh, sure,” Dean said, face flickering, and closed the door behind him.

Cas sat at his desk, sighed, and stared out at the watery morning sun.

***

Dean’s eyes lingered on the Roadhouse as he passed by on his way home from work the next day. He did miss Jo and Ash, Ellen and Bill, Rufus and some of the guys he only ever saw there - he hadn’t realized how much until Jo had surprised him yesterday. Sometimes a cold beer at the Roadhouse and the company of those idiots was the only cure for a fight with Dad, or Sam, or a crappy shift at Bobby’s. But it was odd, how he hadn’t even noticed he’d been away this long - he supposed he’d been so distracted by the whole thing with Cas.

Man, had the Cas thing escalated quickly. It was fine, though. Dean was feeling - in control. Sure, usually by this many kisses he’d actually had _sex_ with someone, but he was fine. 

Maybe he’d started to imagine... stuff. Being with Cas. In bed. He didn’t have any context for guys, but he’d done just about everything he’d ever imagined or seen on screen with a chick, so he didn’t feel too out of his depth, uh, _anatomically_ speaking. Sex dreams about Cas? Yeah, those were happening. Those were _happening_.

Maybe he’d even had a recurring fantasy about Cas giving him his “kiss” of the day in a place where it would really be more properly categorized as a _job_. Was that against the rules? Was Cas considering it? Would he stop him? 

Dean cursed as he pulled up short behind a truck at a red light - his mind was wandering again. Of course he’d say stop. He’d been stopping Cas every day for the last few weeks, hadn’t he? Because they were playing a game, and Dean Winchester didn’t lose. And even if it weren’t a game - 

Dean’s phone rang in his pocket. He fished it out and answered. “Hey, Sammy.”

“Jer - oh, you said my name. You’re in a good mood,” Sammy said.

“Shut up, bitch,” Dean said. “What’s going on?”

Sam sighed heavily. “Brady got his law school acceptances in. He’s in at UChicago.”

Dean whistled. “Wow, nice. Far. And cold, I’m betting.”

“He blows off all his classes, barely manages a B+ GPA, and I think he was lying about his LSAT score, because there’s no way...”

“Ain’t like you to be petty,” Dean said, pulling into the garage. “What’s the deal?”

“I haven’t heard back from anywhere yet,” Sam said darkly. “I mean, Brady’s my friend, and I’m happy for him. But what if...”

“What if what?”

“What if I don’t get in anywhere, and I spend the rest of my life flipping burgers?”

Dean frowned. “First off, no one with a college degree flips burgers. Second, you’re a smart kid. Way smarter than me or Dad. You’re going to go to some kick-ass law school and become the big-shot lawyer you were always meant to be. Capisce?”

He could hear Sam smiling over the line. “Yeah, Dean. Capisce.” There was silence as Dean walked up to this room and shut the door. “So. How’re things with you?”

“Oh, same old, same old,” Dean said. “Bobby drinks too much, messes the cars up, I gotta fix ‘em.”

“Uh huh,” Sam said. “I heard Jo came to visit you at the Bough.”

“What?” Dean asked. “How the hell did you hear that? It was yesterday, and you’re all the way over on campus.”

“It’s not another _planet_ , Dean,” Sam said scathingly. There was a pause. “Jo called me.”

“Great,” Dean said. “What’d she say?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Sam said. “Just that no one’s allowed in the east wing of Castiel’s mansion.”

“What?” Dean snapped. “There’s no east wing. What was she smoking?”

“No, no, it’s true," Sam said. “‘Cause if they were they’d find the magic rose that’s keeping Castiel transformed until true love’s -”

“Goodbye,” Dean said, and hung up.

Dinner was belt-busting that night - Benny made them crawdads for the second time in a row, which Dean was beginning to realize was his “apology” meal, because they were delicious and Benny was still ducking and nodding and bumbling around after the whole kissus-interruptus thing. Dean and Cas ended up plopped on the couch, barely awake, staring dumbly at the TV.

“Movie?” Cas offered in a dull voice.

“Uh,” Dean replied. In the corner of his vision he saw Cas heft himself up with great difficulty and wander over to the shelf of DVDs.

“What’re you in the mood for?” Cas asked. Dean waved a hand at him uncommunicatively. Cas was squinting at something Dean couldn’t see. “Are... Lord of the Rings? Good?”

Dean felt a gurgle of indignation, but it was hard to process anything from so severe a food coma. “You’re joking, right? Star Wars was one thing, but - you haven’t seen Lord of the Rings?”

“I think I read the Hobbit in college,” Cas said, stumbling over to the TV with the disc.

“Unacceptable,” Dean announced. “Ass on couch, Davies. C’mon.”

They settled in and started watching. But while the movie perked Dean up, Cas stayed quiet, slumped against the armrest. It was only once the credits rolled that Dean looked over and realized he was sound asleep.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered to himself, leaning over Cas’s prone form. “Sleeping through Peter Jackson? That’s just...” He drifted off, because this close, it was overwhelming how cute a sleeping Cas was. It still felt odd to him, occasionally, admitting that he found a man attractive. But what was he supposed to think when Cas’s face was so relaxed and vulnerable, eyelashes fluttering and lips quivering... slightly drooling -

It was enough to snap him out of it. “Cas!” He nudged him roughly. “Wake up, pal.”

Cas startled awake. “Huh? What? Did I miss it?”

“Pretty much,” Dean said. “It’s okay. We can try again tomorrow.”

Cas frowned beneath him. “What time is it?” He glanced at his watch, and his face paled.

“What?” Dean asked.

Cas looked up at him. “It’s 12:07.”

“So?” It took Dean a minute to translate Cas’s stricken face, but then he got it. “Oh my god. It’s tomorrow.” He knew he should stop grinning when Cas looked so miserable, but he couldn’t help it. “You didn’t get your kiss!”

Cas’s pout was epic. “I’m never having Benny’s crawdads again.”

Dean laughed and laughed. “It’s okay,” he said. “We can waive it in under the wire. Extraordinary circumstances.”

“Are you kidding?” Cas said. “I’m no cheater. The deal was one kiss a day. No roll-overs. No grandfathering in.”

“There’s no international rules committee, Cas,” Dean said. “I won’t tell.”

“I’d know,” Cas said, comically dismayed now. “This whole thing only works if I’m true to my word. We have a system, Dean. I would never -”

Obviously the best thing to do was kiss Cas to shut him up. Cas groaned and they fell back onto the couch, Cas sinking into the cushions and Dean sinking into him. The feel of Cas’s body beneath his was obscene - they’d come close, but never been fully horizontal before. The angle did something to his brain, his blood flowing hotter, his hands going rougher, rationality evacuating through his ears.

He knew he was using too much tongue, but he didn’t care, he needed to be tasting Cas’s tonsils. Cas’s hair was soft in Dean’s fist, the skin over his ribs hot and smooth under Dean’s fingers. Cas spread his legs and Dean sunk in further, their crotches slotting together, Cas hot and hard against him, the friction maddening. Cas was - christ, Cas was _rocking_ , hips jutting back and forth in jerky, frantic motions, little sounds falling out of his mouth at the base of each rasping breath. It was like being in bed together, except for - clothes, there were too many _clothes_ -

Cas apparently had the same thought, because his hand was under Dean’s shirt, not just to touch, he was grabbing the hem, trying to pull it off, and Dean _wanted_ him to, wanted to see and touch and taste miles of Cas’s skin, which was why -

“Stop,” he choked out, twisting around to grab Cas’s hand on his back. He caught the other without thinking and brought them both up above Cas’s head, on the armrest.

They were as close as they’d been while kissing. Cas was still breathing heavily, warm on Dean’s face. With his wrists pinned, the line of his body was stretched out, taut, even more tantalizing than before. And his eyes -

He stared up at Dean with complete and total trust. More than that - with desire. With low, filthy encouragement. Dean was holding Cas down, and Cas was entirely on board.

Dean licked his lips. Cas’s eyes darkened. 

“I have to go,” Dean wheezed, and scrambled off Cas and out of the room as quickly as possible.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean took a deep breath and pushed open the Roadhouse doors. 

Jo was right - he’d been avoiding his usual haunts. Point of fact, he hadn’t even been back to the bank since - Bobby had set up direct deposit for him (and he barely knew how to work a computer, Ash had to help him. His stomach turned just thinking about it). So it was time to step up. This was his town, and his time with Cas was almost a third of the way over. He wouldn’t be chased away. 

It was pretty empty for a Saturday afternoon - happy hour would pick up soon, but Dean had come a little early. In fact, no one was behind the bar at the moment, and aside from some guys in the back, Rufus was the only customer, staring fixedly at the blurry TV in the corner. Dean came up and sat a few stools down from him, resting his elbows on the pockmarked wood. “Rufus,” he said.

“Fuckin’ Tigers,” Rufus replied, eyes glued to the screen. Dean grinned.

They sat in companionable crankiness for a few moments before Ellen came out from the back, looking hassled and stern and so much like _home_ that Dean couldn’t believe he’d been away this long. When her eyes landed on him, he flashed her his winningest grin. She strode up and slapped him upside the head. “What in the hell’s the matter with you, boy?” She shouted. “We were worried sick!”

“Maybe I was trying to go sober,” Dean quipped. Rufus turned away from the TV for the first time to give him a dark look. “But I’m back now!” Dean asserted feebly, holding his hands up.

“Damn straight,” Ellen said, fixing him a drink. “We missed you.” When she was done pouring, she lifted a calloused hand to his chin, tilting his head toward the light. “Heard you got a shiner,” she commented. “What, you afraid to show it here? ‘Cause we’re such a fine, upstanding establishment?”

“No,” Dean said, swatting her away. “Been busy.”

“With your rich boy?” Before Dean could summon an indignant retort, she continued, “Haven’t seen ‘im since he came in a few weeks back, pretty little thing on his arm, and ordered the nastiest drinks I ever heard of. Took off when some locals started hassling him.”

“I know, Ellen,” Dean said over the rim of his glass. “I was there.”

“Left a huge tip, though,” She said, smiling. “So if you could get him to come back, I’d appreciate it.”

“Uh, sure,” Dean said, surprised. Ellen winked at him.

They settled into their usual routine: Rufus shouting at Ellen, Dean, the TV, and life in general, Dean and Ellen ribbing each other, Ellen pouring them both drinks before they had to ask. Around mid-afternoon, Bill shouldered in from the back, carrying a heavy carton. “Where do you want it, sweetheart?” he asked.

“Over here,” Ellen said. “Aren’t you helpful.” When he had settled the box in place, he straightened and she wrapped her arms around him, giving him a lingering kiss against the bar. Dean looked away, something sour settling in his gut. 

Bill noticed him after a moment and smiled. “Dean.”

“Hey Bill,” Dean replied. “How’ve you been?”

“Same old, same old,” Bill said. “Worked a shift with your old man today.”

“Don’t envy either of you,” Dean said.

“Yeah,” Bill said, and he turned his gaze to Ellen again. “That’s why I made sure I had something good to come home to.”

“Aww,” Ellen said. “Nice try. Still five more cartons to bring in.”

Bill sighed and kissed Ellen again and wandered out back. Dean frowned after him. “Hey Ellen,” he asked, “how did you two meet?”

“Me and Bill?” she asked. “High school sweethearts. Makes your teeth ache, don’t it?” Dean smiled and tipped his drink back. “Why do you ask?”

“Just curious,” he replied. 

Ellen was watching him carefully. “You know,” she said. “You weren’t the only one who’s been away for a while. Your Daddy hasn’t been around much either.” Dean shrugged. “What does he think of your new roommate?” 

“They haven’t met,” Dean replied. Talk about understatement. The last few family Sundays had been tense, Sam sighing and moaning his way through them, John and Dean still glacial. They’d get better, though - they had to. 

“John Winchester’s good at a lot of things,” Ellen was saying slowly. “But parenting hasn’t always been one.”

“Hey, what the hell, Ellen,” Dean said sharply, the pleasant atmosphere shattered. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. That’s my old man.”

“I’m just saying -”

“What, like Jo and Ash are prizes?”

“Hey!” She frowned right back at him. “C’mon, I was just -” she sighed, and closed her eyes a moment. “I just meant, whatever’s going on, there’d be no cause for him to be upset with _you_. No matter what,” she emphasized. 

Dean narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m sorry, I thought this was a bar, not _therapy_.” She recoiled at the accusation.

Before she could reply, Rufus jumped in. “Yeah, Ellen, leave him alone.”

“Thanks, Rufus.”

“If the boy wants to have homosexual congress with a drugged-out billionaire, let ‘im. Y’only live once.”

Dean snorted whiskey all over the bar. Ellen made him clean it up. 

He switched to water and Ellen’s mediocre bar food for the last hour so he was good when he got in his car to drive home. But while he was sober, his thoughts were still jumbled. Seeing Ellen and Rufus, being in the familiar hussle of the Roadhouse, it should have made him feel like his old self again. And it did, on the surface. But it reminded him more of the handful of times Dad had moved them back to a town they’d lived in before, like Lawrence. Every time, Dean expected that rush of familiarity, maybe even, finally, the sense of home. Instead, it always made Dean hyperaware of everything that had changed since he’d left. All the ways he was different.

Two more months and Dean would be back to his old routine, but he wasn’t kidding himself that things would actually be the same. Who knew when Dad would start talking to him again, how long the gossip and bullshit would take to go away, if ever.

And what about Cas? Would they still see each other when the deal was over? Unlikely. The lingering alcohol in his brain made it easier to admit that he’d miss Cas once he was back home. He was a good guy. Funny. Weird, in a way that seemed increasingly important to have in Dean’s life. One hell of a makeout buddy. It was a shame they couldn’t be more than uneasy allies; Dean would even think they’d become friends, if it weren’t for the deal looming over them all the time.

What if Cas did visit him once he was home? What if Cas asked him out, on a real date?

( _Dating_ a dude - there was something he hadn’t considered, even though he’d had his hands all over one every day for the last few weeks. It just seemed so... _weird_. Guess this sexuality-awakening bullshit didn’t happen overnight. And mostly, Dean hardly ever dated _anyone_ , so it all felt kinda weird.)

So what if Cas asked him out? Would he want the genuine version of what they were just playacting now? 

...No. He would still be the man who’d held Dean hostage for three months, the price he’d demanded for doing what any decent human being would have done anyway. No amount of pecan pie recipes and first-class jerk-off fodder could make up for that.

Plus, who’s to say he’d still want Dean when they were done?

Dean’s phone beeped as he got out of the car - a text from Sam. _Can we have lunch tomorrow BEFORE “family Sunday”??_ Dean sent back _sure_ and went inside.

Cas wasn’t in the living or dining room, and the whole place felt weirdly quiet. Dean rapped his knuckles on Cas’s door when he got upstairs, and shouldered in. 

Cas’s room was larger than Dean’s, but the deep blue walls made it seem small, like a cave. Cas was silhouetted against the massive fireplace, staring at something in his hands. “Cas?” Dean asked.

Cas turned, and as he got closer Dean could see he was holding the little ceramic bird from the something or other store on the way back from Denver. It had been so stupid - mostly, Dean had been seeing how much dumb shit he could convince Cas to buy - but the little blue bird... “Why did you make me buy this?” Cas asked.

Dean shrugged, and didn’t mention Cas’s habit of tilting his head when confused. “What’s up? You seem... brooding.”

Cas sighed and put the bird back on the mantle. “I got a call from Zachariah. He’s turned down the hydraulic supports.”

“The robots?” Dean asked, scandalized. “Why?”

“Because he can,” Cas said, wandering over to his desk. “Because he’s the manager, not me. I’m just a private citizen who bought the machines for the mine, and had Meg massage the finances so it would look like an internal purchase. But he’s not stupid. He sent them back to the factory.”

“What the hell is his problem?” Dean asked.

“My interference, I’m sure,” Cas said. “He mentioned that he’s having trouble getting in touch with my father. Which means he doesn’t believe our story. And Rachel can only hold him off so long.” They were silent for a stretch, and Cas cursed. “I thought we were getting somewhere. I don’t... I don’t know what to do next.”

Dean leaned his hip against the desk, staring down at Cas’s bowed black head. He took a deep breath. “Well, Cas - it sounds like it’s time to talk to your Dad.”

Cas’s head snapped up. “No.”

“C’mon, man,” Dean entreated. “We have to save the mine, and you can do it if you’re in charge!”

Cas jumped out of his seat and stalked to the other side of the room. “And you think he’ll just put me in charge if I ask?”

“I think we’re dead in the water if you don’t.”

Cas turned to face him. “I told you about the solar factory. I’m not doing nothing.”

“Yeah, so in six months or a year there _might_ be other jobs some of the miners _might_ be qualified for that they _might_ get,” Dean said. “The mine’ll still be there. Someone’s gonna take those jobs, and if Zachariah keeps running things the way they are, people are gonna get hurt. You have to do _something_.”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “Are you threatening to leave?” he asked. “Is that what this is - you want out of our deal?”

“Oh, screw you, Cas,” Dean spat. “You wanna go back to the guy you were a month ago, that’s on you, but don’t blame me or the mine. I know better. I’ve seen what you can do when you’re trying to do the right thing -”

“I tried and failed,” Cas interrupted harshly. “By your own judgment.”

“You only failed if you quit now,” Dean said. Cas’s eyes dropped from his. “Cas, I had no idea what I thought was going to happen when I first came here.” He grimaced. “I guess that’s not true - I probably thought I’d tear you a new one, maybe throw a punch or two, feel better about myself, and never see you again.”

“And I ended up propositioning you,” Cas smiled without humor. “To your eternal shock.”

“Nah. Well, yes,” Dean admitted. “But the real shock was you. You cleaned up, Cas. You’re strong. You’re smart. You’re... a good guy.” Cas’s face was blank with shock. “And I never would have guessed, ‘cause you were so hell-bent on being a mess, trying to punish your parents. Probably trying to punish yourself too, I’m guessing.”

“Dean -”

“No, wait, look. I know there’s a lot of shit between you and your folks. They sound like dicks, and if you wanted to walk away forever, I wouldn’t blame you. But you’ve got an opportunity that no one else has. You have a chance to make things better. To _help people_. And you’re not even gonna try? You’re just gonna run yourself into the ground until the pain stops?”

He paused. Cas still wasn’t looking at him. “I know you’re mad about the past,” Dean said lowly. “But going back to being the guy you were when we first met... it’s letting them win.”

Cas was shaking finely, like a house of cards in the wind. He raised his eyes to Dean’s. As always, staring at Cas felt physical, like a current passing between them, like if Dean could just focus his eyes one degree more, he’d see something that had been hovering in the shadow of his vision for years. 

Cas swallowed and reached in his pocket, bringing out his phone. “Calling Benny to kick me out?” Dean joked weakly. Cas’s fingers were punching the keys steadily, almost robotically. He finished, hit send, and put the phone away. 

He looked back up at Dean. “Emailed my father. Asking for a time to talk.”

Dean broke into a smile, ear to ear. “Thanks, man,” he said. “And, uh, congrats, I guess.” Cas just stared at him, still with that horrible, vulnerable look on his face. “Uh,” Dean said. “Let’s get drunk?”

Cas smiled.

***

Dean startled awake to the sound of his phone beeping shrilly. His head was pounding, his mouth dry, and his stomach queasy, but on the plus side, he was laying on something very comfortable, very soft, and very...

Alive. Crap, he was on Cas, he was lying draped over Cas, and that realization prompted a lot of incredibly undignified flailing that thoroughly finished the job of waking Cas up too.

Clothes. Yes, he was fully dressed, and so was Cas. They were on... the rug on Cas’s floor. Under a blanket. Dear Lord. And his phone was still going crazy - he swiped at it resentfully, wondering what could possibly be so - “ _Crap_.” He had a batch of unread texts from Sam, the latest of which was _wtf man_.

“What?” Cas asked, voice, wow, unbelievably scratchy. _Not hot, not hot._

“I was supposed to have been at lunch with Sam twenty minutes ago.” He texted back _overslept omw_ , and ran a hand through his hair. “Crap, what the hell happened last night?”

Cas looked a little embarrassed. “We... got drunk.” There was a pause. “Mostly you.”

That’s right. He’d basically been sober when he’d gotten back to the Bough last night, because, really, no offense to Ellen, but the Roadhouse wasn’t a place you went to get hammered - it was more of a watering hole, a place for friends and family to gather and shoot the breeze.

Cas’s personal liquor cabinet? _That_ existed for the sole purpose of getting drunk.

He definitely remembered Cas drinking more, obviously, but the guy was a stone after several straight years of debauchery, whereas Dean had already been drinking, and wasn’t quite the champion at it that Cas was. So while Cas had spent the early evening lounging in his desk chair, not doing a very good job of pretending he wasn’t looking at his phone every thirty seconds, Dean remembered deciding that the rug was a much more comfortable place from which to drink whiskey that cost more than his car.

But how had they... “I fell asleep?” he asked.

Cas nodded firmly. “There was no moving you. You declared the rug _awesome_ and your _new favorite place_. I decided to get you a blanket so you’d be comfortable.”

Dean was filled with dread. “We didn’t...”

Cas frowned and finally stood up. “Of course not, Dean. I have _morals_.”

“So the reason I woke up on _top_ of you?”

“Um...” Cas shuffled in place. “I think I was talking to you as you fell asleep, and, well...”

“You decided to sneak in some cuddling while I was too inebriated to protest,” Dean concluded. “That’s low, Cas.”

Cas was red with indignation. “I did _not_ -” 

“It’s fine, Cas, I’m kidding. Christ, I gotta get ready, Sam’s gonna kill me.” He ran into his bathroom and splashed some water on his face, Cas’s footsteps behind him.

“Are you okay to drive?” He asked. “You were pretty out of it last night.”

“Oh, I’m sober now,” Dean replied wearily. He turned around. “So wait. You didn’t get yesterday’s kiss?”

“I don’t think so,” Cas said, frowning. “I’m not sure, I may have kissed you on the forehead once you were asleep.”

Dean grinned as he was toweling his face off. “You old softie. Got me drunk just to cuddle, wasted a golden opportunity on a forehead kiss.” Cas glared at him and said nothing. “If you’re wrong, that means you’re one kiss behind.”

“It doesn’t work like that, I told you,” Cas grumped. “But if you’re so worried...”

He leaned in. Dean said “No, wait, I have -” before their lips met.

It was a soft kiss. Dean couldn’t really enjoy it on account of the headache, the nausea, the aches and pains, but it was nice. He had a feeling Cas wasn’t at his best either, because he didn’t push it, just rested his hands on Dean’s waist and kissed him the length of a slow, inhaled breath.

“... morning breath,” Dean said when he pulled away. They stared at each other another moment, noses almost touching.

“Go see your brother,” Cas said, and left.

Dean brushed his teeth, changed his clothes, and drove across town in record time, but he still ran into the diner a full forty minutes late, and slid into the booth across from Sammy probably looking like ten kinds of hell. “Some things never change,” Sammy muttered, eyes still on his menu.

“I said I was sorry,” Dean said breathlessly. “Did you eat already?”

“No, Dean,” Sam said. “I was waiting for you.” Weirdly, it wasn’t said bitchily, but more... nervous. 

“Everything okay?” He asked. The waitress came by and took their orders before Sam could answer.

Once the waitress had walked away, Sammy fixed him with an intense stare and blurted out, “I got into Stanford, Dean. On a _scholarship_.”

Dean heard white noise. “What?”

Sam was smiling, or grimacing. “Stanford Law. I got in!”

Dean blinked a few times. “You applied to _Stanford_?”

“Yeah?” Sam asked. “It’s like - kind of my dream school. And I got - Dean, I got basically a full ride. Aren’t -” he chuckled nervously. “Aren’t you happy for me?”

The diner didn’t have enough air. Dean wasn’t getting enough air. “Are you going?”

Sam frowned and glanced around, embarrassed. “Of course I’m _going_ , Dean, it’s my _dream school_.”

“It’s in California,” Dean hissed. “We’ll never see you!” Plane tickets to California, christ, they could barely afford to take time off work when Dad got the urge to visit Grandma Campbell every few years. Stanford? Might as well be the moon.

“Well maybe that’s a good thing, Dean!” Sam yelled, then reined in his voice. “Me and Dad, you know we’ve had our problems - and the last few weeks, you guys have been fighting too -”

Dean felt every drop of blood in his body drain out. “This is because of Dad and me?”

Sam sighed harshly and dragged a hand through his hair. “Dean, don’t be stupid. We could all use some space - you got some by moving out, now I’ll get the same.”

“I moved across _town_ ,” Dean said, “not to a different _time zone_.” But it didn’t matter, nothing mattered, all he could hear was _Dad and me, Dad and me, Dad and me,_ over and over again.

“It’s a top ten law school, Dean!” Sam was saying. “And yeah, sue me, I like the idea of never shoveling my car out of snow again!” _Never. Never shoveling snow. Never again._ “I can’t believe you, you should be happy for me, not acting like -”

“You’re walking out on your family?” Dean intoned harshly. The waitress was hovering nearby. She had brought their coffee a while ago but now just watched them, unsure.

“Family’s supposed to support you, Dean,” Sam said. “Not be a _prison_.”

Dean’s heart felt like it had shrivelled and died in his chest. He pulled his wallet out of his jeans, threw a completely random fistful of bills on the table, and stood up. “Sorry about _imprisoning_ you, Sammy. Congrats on the jailbreak.”

Sam said, “Dean, wait-” but he’d already left.

He didn’t remember the drive to the Bough, but he came back to himself soaking in the view of the grounds under the afternoon sun. The lawn got hillier as it spread away from the house, and at its peak a thick wood started, retreating back into the horizon. Birds whistled, the trees sighed. It was calming.

Except, no - this place was the enemy. It was why Sam was leaving, because Dad and Dean couldn’t keep their shit together long enough to make Sam happy. He’d said so: he needed space because they’d been fighting, because Dean had been selfish and thought he needed to be here to help Dad, but he’d just ended up driving both of them away.

He couldn’t break the deal, that was too important to keeping Dad safe at the mine, but he needed to get back home where he could make Sam see reason. Stanford was - it was absurd. Sammy moving all the way to California? He could make him stay, once he was home and he and Dad were a united front and everything was fixed. He could do this.

He just had to make Cas let him go.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean skipped dinner and said nothing when Cas came knocking on his door, presumably to ask why. Let him think he was out, or sick, or on the can. He had plans to arrange.

Getting Cas to release him from their deal while keeping up his end wouldn’t be easy. He’d already asked if he could leave, and that had gone down in flames. Walking out would be worse. Arguing would just make him dig in his heels.

No, he had to make Cas _want_ Dean to go. He flung his thoughts out over his one-night-stands from years past, trying to determine what had made his tune change from _hell yes_ to _gtfo_ the quickest.

An idea began to blossom in his mind. A thorny, repulsive idea.

He waited until it was late, and he was fairly sure Cas was in bed (good thing he’d already gotten his kiss, or he definitely wouldn’t have left him alone), and began prowling the halls, opening doors he hadn’t looked behind before, finding bedrooms, linen closets, a music room, what looked like a nursery. Dean paused for a moment, unexpectedly arrested by the sight of the sailboat wallpaper.

In a sunken corner on the ground floor, he found what he was looking for. It was filthy and faded from disuse, as everything here had been at first, but he was prepared. He spent a long night dusting, decluttering, and scrubbing, until it looked good enough that he felt a pang of regret at how it would eventually be used - given new life, it looked like the kind of place where he and Sam could spend some time and enjoy themselves.

 _Sam._ The thought sent a jolt of pain through him, and he clenched his jaw.

***

Cas almost didn’t recognize himself. The stark black and white lines of the suit, broken only by the navy blue tie, looked - well, _bizarre_ , compared to his typical eye-searing, profane, or hemp-based attire. It needed to be steamed and taken in, and Cas _himself_ would never seem quite right in business casual, but on the whole he looked - clean. Normal. Like a... tax accountant.

Just as Father would love. The email-related anxiety was so familiar by this point it chafed his brain on the way through. He still couldn’t believe Dean had talked him into it. But, he reflected glumly, he was starting to think he’d do just about anything Dean asked.

It was time to start stepping up his game in that respect. Aside from the mounting frustration, Dean had begun dropping references to his “time here”, and it made Cas twitch every time. Once he finally got Dean into his bed they could stop pretending he would leave at the end of the three months, but until then the whole thing was precarious.

“Well?” Benny asked, interrupting his thoughts.

“Needs to be dry cleaned,” Cas said, turning a bit in front of the mirror, “but it’ll do.”

“Do for what?” Cas jumped at the sound of Dean’s voice behind him. He turned, prepared to answer, but the words died in his throat.

It wasn’t news that Dean was an unbelievably handsome man, but he didn't always make it easy to appreciate. The man favored layers, scruff, a plain ruggedness that had its own appeal but sometimes came across as frumpy.

Today there were no layers, and the contrast was almost pornographic. With his customary boots and jeans, he wore only a slate gray t-shirt ( _naked_ , Cas thought wildly) that revealed his thick biceps, hugged his shoulders, and fell just loosely enough over his torso to hint at the pleasant landscape underneath but give no satisfaction. The amulet he often wore was nestled in the soft fabric over his breastbone created by a muscled chest. His stubble was lighter too.

He looked... polished. Sun-kissed and bright in a way that Cas wanted to scrape off with his teeth.

Dean was staring at him with an expression that indicated Cas had taken too long to answer his question. He shook his head irritatedly - surely he was not losing his power of speech over the lack of a plaid overshirt. "Uh, if my father summons me," he managed.

“Well, I like it," Dean said, grinning. "You clean up okay, Cas." 

“Thanks,” he said. He belatedly noticed the white paper bag Dean was holding. "What's that?"

"Oh, I brought home some dry rub from this new place I found," Dean said. "Figured Benny could use the night off."

Benny shrugged happily in response to Cas's look. "Sounds good to me," he said. "Just give me a moment to get changed."

"Nah, wear it," Dean said, and _winked_ before he turned and headed for the dining room. Cas almost tripped in his haste to follow him.

He mentioned Dean’s own outfit moments later over the take-out cartons, earning a frown and a, "What?"

"Less layers," Cas clarified, gesturing with his knife.

Dean shrugged. "Just in the mood, I guess."

“It looks nice,” Cas said, going for a smile that wasn’t entirely lecherous. It seemed to work, because Dean’s answering look was warm. Benny brought out some beers that paired perfectly with the food, and the conversation flowed loose and easy for hours, everyone ending up full and buzzed and just on the edge of sleepy.

Benny eventually insisted on cleaning up and doing the dishes since he hadn't cooked, and while he was in the back, Dean leaned in close and said, "I've got a surprise."

Cas perked up. "For me?"

Dean nodded. "C'mon." He led him around the ground floor before stopping in front of a door Cas didn’t recognize. Dean pushed it open, and Cas took a few steps into darkness before lights flicked on, revealing - 

A game room, complete with dartboard, wet bar, a pair of overstuffed armchairs, and a big pool table right in the center. Dean had a hesitant grin on his face, and it blossomed when he saw Cas's shocked appreciation. "Wow," he said. "I completely forgot we had this room." He had a vague recollection of stumbling in here as a child, when the alcohol, darts, and other adult content had made it strictly off-limits. He didn't remember it ever glowing like it did now.

"You cleaned this?" he asked. Dean nodded, smile broadening. It wasn’t his usual smirk or grin or grimace, it was the full-wattage, unrestrained, purely happy smile Cas had only gotten a handful of times since they’d met. A weapon of mass destruction. Cas’s heart pitter-pattered obediently. 

"You're really something, Dean," he murmured, forcing his eyes back to the refurbished space. "Your room, the living room, now this. You keep it up, and this house might actually live up to its glory days."

"You're saying being a maid's my true calling?" Dean snarked.

"No," Cas said. "I mean... you pour your heart into things. I arrived here, and what rooms I didn't trash, I just left in disrepair. But you see the potential, and unearth it from whatever time and I have subjected it to. You deserve a house like this much more than I do." When he looked back at Dean, the breathtaking smile was gone, an odd look in its place. He was rubbing a hand on the back of his neck.

"Well," Dean finally settled on, "couldn't let a gorgeous table like this go to waste." He ran a hand appreciatively over the green felt. Cas was not envious.

"Shall we play?" he asked.

"Didn't take you for the pool type."

"You really can't decide if I'm a sheltered nerd or a perverted deviant, can you?" Cas teased. Dean's grin widened and he shook his head. "Good," Cas replied. "Have you keep you on your toes."

"Then let's play," Dean said, racking the balls. "But make it interesting."

"You want to play for money?" Cas asked.

"Boring," Dean said. "Let's play for stakes."

"Like what?"

Dean plucked two cues from the wall and held one out to Cas with a devious expression on his face. "If I win... no more daily kiss."

Cas was surprised, and maybe a twinge hurt - Dean had seemed to enjoy the kisses as much as he did lately. Of course, he also kept running away from every one, so maybe this wasn't entirely out of the blue. "Unacceptable," he answered. "Unless, if I win, you don't get to say stop when I kiss you." Dean rolled his eyes. Cas's eyes skated over his delectable outfit, and another possibility occurred to him. "How about strip pool?"

Dean's eyebrows raised. "Strip pool?"

"Loser loses an item of clothing," Cas explained.

"I don't know, Cas, what if our folks come home and catch us?"

Cas sauntered up to Dean, a challenging glint in his eye. "Chicken?"

Dean's eyes raked over him. "How many items of clothing you got on?"

Cas mentally counted. "Eleven."

Dean cocked his head. "I'm at ten."

Cas shrugged out of his suit jacket and draped it over one of the armchairs. "Do you want to break first?"

Dean's grin in that moment was diabolical. "Mistake," he said, and removed the rack with a flourish. He bent over the table and stretched his arms along his cue and Cas thought that any decision that resulted in Dean in that position could not possibly be a mistake.

Until Dean had already sunk half of his balls and Cas realized he hadn't even gone yet. He sat down to untie the laces of one dress shoe a minute later, asking, "So you’ve played before?"

"Sometimes when jobs were thin, Dad and I'd hustle at the nearest dive for extra cash," Dean said, arms wrapped around his stick.

Cas pulled off the shoe with a grimace, then grabbed his own cue, determined to even the score. "At least you're not hustling me."

Cas had spent enough time in bars to be decent at pool, but he hadn't played in a while, and he only managed five balls before missing one. Dean took over and sank every ball methodically, then won his next game just as cleanly.

Another shoe and one sock down, Cas returned to the table, concentrating more carefully this time. He broke into a huge grin when he sunk his last ball, watching as Dean toed off one of his thick boots. Even better, on the next game Dean's streak finally ended, and he missed a shot about halfway through. Cas took over, determined not to waste the opportunity, and made every shot. "Why start with your shoes?" Cas asked as Dean's second boot joined the other. He knew he must have been counting his amulet and thick silver ring toward his total in order to catch up to the number of items in Cas's suit.

Dean shrugged and wiggled his toes in his socks. "Just getting comfy." Cas had never had a foot fetish before. _And he’s still wearing socks. Pull yourself together, Davies._

Dean took over gleefully when Cas missed the second shot of his next game, sliding and shimmying around the table with gusto. He wasn't about to comment and risk ruining it, but Cas thought Dean seemed in a singular mood while playing pool. It was clearly a past-time that encouraged naughty thoughts, what with all the bending and circling and stroking of sticks. The thing was, Dean _knew_ that, and Cas might have expected him to be bashful or defensive about it. Instead, he was smirking and leering as he made ball jokes, and - was he wiggling his ass as he leaned over for his last shot, right in front of Cas? _Huh._

Cas’s trance was broken by Dean’s grin, making him realize he’d lost again, and he shucked his other sock as Dean started his next game. Cas tried not to be fatalistic, but by the time Dean had managed another closeout, he had already chosen his belt over his tie, and as Dean’s last ball vanished he flipped the buckle disgustedly.

Dean didn’t seem disgusted - in fact, quite the opposite. Surprised but encouraged by the way his eyes fixated on Cas’s hips, Cas changed his entire approach and drew the leather through the loops slowly, carefully. Dean finally seemed to realize he was staring and looked away, plastering on a smirk, but his cheeks were red. When it was finally free, Cas let the belt dangle for a moment before asking, "Shall I keep this handy for later?" It was the obvious joke, but Cas remembered how Dean had reacted when he'd inadvertently pinned him to the couch that one time. Sure enough, the shot hit, and Dean's eyes darkened as he licked his lips.

Predictably, Cas screwed up his next game and Dean once more took over and won, but Cas was starting to realize that winning and losing in this particular game had a lot in common. A flush covered Dean's face when Cas took his time loosening his tie. He fiddled with it for a long moment before saying, "Dean? Some help?"

To his slight shock, Dean sauntered over without pause. His fingers brushed Cas's neck as he unhurriedly coaxed out the knot, their eyes locked. When he finally had it undone, he pulled the tie through Cas's collar very, very slowly before yanking it the last few inches and winding it around his fist. "Wanna save this for later too?" he asked lowly.

 _Words. Brain. Words._ "Um," Cas replied. Dean's lip twitched in a small grin.

Cas shook himself slightly, trying to clear his head, as Dean set up his next game. All the flirting had distracted him from the fact that he was losing badly: down to four garments to Dean's eight. Unfortunately, there was nothing he could do when Dean broke, kept control, and killed it as usual.

Time to turn another loss into a win: Cas unbuttoned his dress shirt slowly, happy when Dean's eyes seemed glued to the progress of his fingers. He shrugged the shirt off his shoulders just as carefully, and even threw in a luxurious stretch, just to watch Dean's face contort. "You're -" Dean swallowed and tried again. "You're in pretty good shape, for a guy whose only exercise is lifting a bong."

"You shouldn’t be surprised," Cas grinned. "You've had the proof in your hands for the last few weeks." Dean scowled and gestured for him to rack up his next game, but Cas ran his palm over his undershirt first devilishly. "If you win this one, you'll get to see my tattoo."

"You're inked?" Dean asked.

"Find out," Cas said, and shot the break. He was determined now - he had a five-garment deficit to close. Despite Dean's hovering over the table like a vulture searching for scraps, Cas managed to win, taking Dean's ring off.

Energized by the win, Cas decided to try a new tactic during Dean’s next game: he positioned himself in Dean's eyeline and began chalking his cue in a way that could generously be described as loving. He thought he would get called out on it immediately, but shockingly, it worked - Dean glanced up at the exact worst moment, and sent a ball careening off in the wrong direction. Cas took over and got rid of Dean's amulet, then won his next game, taking one of Dean's socks. The string of losses seemed to rattle Dean, because he lost his next game and other sock.

Cas stared at Dean's belt as he racked his next game, determined to get it off so that the shirt would come next and Dean would finally have to start showing some skin. Yet when Cas's renewed dedication once more paid off and he won, Dean shocked him completely by ignoring the belt and stripping off his gray T.

 _Skin. Skin skin skin_ , Cas's brain notified him pointlessly. Dean was roped with muscle in a way that clearly spoke to his profession wrestling metal into submission. He had only the faintest farmer's tan, his skin warm and flush and glistening all over. The flare of the tattoo above his heart brought back fond memories. Cas’s mouth was filling up with saliva.

A pointed throat-clearing brought his eyes to Dean's smirking face. "Thought you were the only one that figured out that trick?" he asked smugly. Cas glared. He was beginning to sympathize with Dean's reaction when Cas had taken his dress shirt off - feeling was one thing, one very, _very_ good thing. But seeing was another.

They were each down to three garments, and Cas put all his remaining brain power into an attempt to concentrate. But it was Dean's turn to start, and he won his next game handily. Cas's undershirt came off, the only consolation Dean's reaction. Gratifyingly, his eyes immediately fixated on Cas’s tattoo. “What is it?” he rasped.

Cas stared down at the thick, ancient text over his lower left ribs. “An enochian poem,” he said. “I never got to ask, what does yours mean?”

“Uh,” Dean said, eyes still locked on Cas’s ink. “A sigil. A family thing, kind of, my brother and Dad got one too.” His eyes finally wandered back over Cas’s chest - not as toned as Dean’s, but respectable (if the dry click of Dean’s throat was any indication) - and up to his face. “Protecting us from the devil. Yours?”

“It’s a prayer, actually,” Cas said. “From a sinner, asking to be hidden from angels.”

Cas's next game was the most contested so far, each of them playing the poorest they had all night - hardly unexpected with so much distracting skin on display. At one point when Dean had control, Cas leaned into his pool cue, letting the smooth wood press into the edge of a nipple, the coldness making it stiffen. Dean's cue hit the felt a good inch away from the ball. Of course, as soon as Cas started lining up his shot, Dean found a way to lean his crotch into his cue, and that was Cas's concentration gone. Still, several changing of hands later, Cas pulled off a win.

"Care for the honors?" Dean asked, gesturing to his belt. Cas had a momentary vision of himself a gaping fish in hot pursuit of a bait-wrapped, sharpened hook. But he couldn't bring himself to care, not when he was starving and the bait looked so delicious. Dean's belt was warm with his body heat, and Cas unbuckled and pulled it loose as slowly as he could manage, bringing Dean's body swaying into his with the pressure.

It was Dean's turn to start, but he hadn't recovered his earlier form, and Cas took it from him halfway through. As Dean unbuttoned his jeans slowly and slid them off to reveal crisp white boxers, Cas tried to think of a time he had been around someone wearing so few clothes that he _hadn't_ slept with. He came up with nothing and grinned drunkenly, mesmerized by the sight of Dean's lightly-haired calves.

Cas was not at all surprised to lose control early in his next game - Dean was standing mere feet away in his _boxers_ , skin golden and gleaming, green gaze boring into him. He could barely remember which balls he was aiming for. Dean, on the other hand, played like a man possessed, and Cas’s pants ended crumpled up in a corner. 

He did the math: it was Dean's turn next, the match point of their game, and he was hopelessly outmatched. But any disappointment at losing felt like it was a million miles behind him, melted away by the burning heat of his skin, the anticipation dripping through his veins, every turn of each ball bringing him closer to the night's inevitable conclusion. The silence that fell after the _thunk_ of the last ball in the pocket was deafening.

"Once more," Dean announced, "you literally fail to get me out of my pants. ...Well, boxers."

Cas set his cue aside carefully and rounded the table. "I haven’t gotten my kiss," he answered, voice low and liquid, curling around them as he drew closer to Dean. Dean, whose skin was flushed straight down to his waist, fingers clenched around his cue until his knuckles were white.

When he was close enough to feel Dean's warmth wafting over him, Cas slid two fingertips under his boxers and edged them down to his thighs. His erection brushed against the fabric of Dean's boxers, a cool, harsh cotton tease. Dean's eyes didn't leave Cas's face. He let his boxers fall to the floor, but the only sound he registered was Dean's rough breathing. Cas took a step forward. He could feel himself leaving a damp smear on Dean's shorts.

He slid his hands lightly over Dean's bare waist, and tilted his hips until their cocks touched lightly, separated only by a tantalizingly thin layer of fabric. Dean's breath hitched. Cas kissed him.

It was fire and powder, the heat between them consuming. Dean groaned and lifted Cas onto the table, his pool stick clattering to the ground, crowding into the cradle of Cas's thighs and crushing their mouths together hotly. The felt was scratchy under Cas’s thighs, but Dean was hot between them, his tongue so wet against Cas’s, his bare back soft under Cas’s nails, digging in greedily. Dean's fingers raked through Cas's hair, moans and grunts seeping out from between their sealed lips, and Cas's hands slid downward, his only thought getting Dean's boxers off.

Until, to his unutterable shock, Dean wrapped a hand firmly around Cas's erection. His breath shuddered out, pleasure swamping everything. Dean was hot and dry and tight, tugging him insistently, as if the distance between Cas and his orgasm was a personal affront, chopping it down as lightning pooled in Cas's balls and the small of his back. He heard himself babbling, "Jesus, Jesus Christ, Dean, yes oh yeah please _Dean_ -"

And then it stopped.

Cas panted and swore at the rush of frustrated pain when Dean's hand lifted away. He grabbed Dean’s wrist instinctually, pulling it back without a thought, slurring something like, "No, don't stop, wha-" But he trailed off as Dean yanked his hand out of Cas's grip and stepped backwards.

Cas’s heart was pounding. Dean's gaze was heavy as concrete. "Stop," he said distinctly.

Cas blinked, most of the blood in his body still not feeding his brain. "What?"

"That's it for today," Dean said dully.

Rationality was trickling in, culling the truth from the look on Dean's face, whispering explanations into Cas's ear, things he didn't want to believe. But there was already fury in his voice when he bit out, "You did that on purpose."

“So?” Dean asked, the word a gunshot into the silence. “This is all just a game to you." His flushed skin, sweat, and heavy breathing were a warrior's exertion now, nothing warm or appealing. "I win."

The room was suddenly freezing cold. Cas leapt off the table, uncaring of his nakedness, and strode forward, eyes locked on Dean's. For the first time, holding his gaze was excruciating. Cas's fists itched, his body ached, and his wrath was a roiling fever in the stem of his skull.

In the space of a thundering heartbeat, any thought of fighting or yelling left him. There was nothing here for him tonight.

He left.

***

 

_I win._

 

***

The angles of Cas's room assaulted his sight as he turned in frantic circles, searching for something, anything. At the bottom of his bedside table he found a flattened joint, and lit it with the foot-long fireplace lighter that burned about half the thing to ash instantly, but not before he managed a drag that filled his lungs with satisfying fire. He held his breath as he stared into the fireplace, feeling the smoke seep into his blood, willing the high to come faster, free him from his thoughts.

A few hits later, as the fogginess was starting to spiderweb across his body, he found himself in the bathroom, jerking off furiously. But nothing happened - Dean's bitter eyes were all he saw when he closed his own, and the only thing building for him was nausea. " _Fuck_ ," he spat, and threw the stub of his joint into the toilet. He splashed water on his face, then took a thirty-second cold shower, wrapped himself in a towel, and fell onto his bed dripping wet.

His phone was in his hand a moment later. He scrolled through the contacts, and texted Ion _come around tomorrow night, need t work off some frustration._

He woke up with his phone pressed into his cheek, someone hammering at his door. He grimaced and glanced out the window - it was midday at least. He was, unfortunately, not high anymore, though the pleasant stretchy aftereffect of the pot cushioned his exhaustion. "Hang on," he croaked, pulling some clothes on.

Benny's face was ashen when he opened the door. Cas frowned. "What is it?"

Benny was _sweating_ , and didn't answer. Cas felt a prickle down his spine. "What?"

“There was an explosion,” Benny said.

“What? Where?”

“The mine.”


	12. Chapter 12

So, it was done.

Cas hadn't pulled the trigger yet - Dean hadn’t seen him since last night - but it was only a matter of time. A chick had never done to him what he'd done to Cas, thank _god_ , but he could imagine how much it would - just the thought was cringe-inducing. 

He had thought Cas was gonna take a swing at him. He wouldn't've blamed him.

He would definitely kick him out by the end of the day.

He was confident Cas wouldn’t call off the deal entirely, though. Dean hadn't broken the rules, he'd beaten Cas fair and square. Now he'd get to go home. This was the way things were supposed to be.

A bead of oily sweat dripped into his hair and he scrubbed his forehead with a gloved hand, cursing. The inner workings of a 2003 Honda Civic were not doing a terrific job of distracting him from thoughts of last night.

For an insane moment, at the end there, he had wanted to keep going. To watch Cas come, to be the one who made him. To finally just say _yes_. And in that moment, he had felt a wash of fear at what would happen when he stopped. Cas would hate him. That was the entire _point_ of the plan. He wasn't sure he could go through with it.

 _Sam_ , he had thought, and that had been enough to throw a tidal wave of cold water over his libido. He'd stopped, just stood there as Cas’s sanity retook control - as hurt and confusion and anger took the place of warmth and affection and desperation that had been there just seconds before.

The phone rang in Bobby’s office. Dean had fled the game room soon after Cas, not eager to stick around and see if Cas would come back and yell at him, or throw that punch. Or kiss him again - not take Dean's _stop_ for an answer this time, like maybe Dean didn't want him to. He hadn't gone to his bedroom, though, couldn't risk being that close to Cas; he'd slept in Baby (more like sat in her 'til the sun came up). He'd only risked being in his room long enough to clean up before coming to Bobby's for the morning shift.

Bobby's phone rang and rang and rang, and a customer's cell was bleating out some inane pop song now, making Dean's head pound. Just as he was about to holler at Bobby to pick up his line already, he heard a gasp from above him, and wheeled out from under the car.

One of the customers they hadn't gotten to yet - inane pop song, likely - had ran to her car and peeled away without a word. Dean shared a frown with Mr. 2003 Honda Civic. It was finally quiet. Bobby came out from the back, phone held to his chest, his face white.

"What, Bobby?" Dean asked. "Who is it?"

***

Bobby didn’t complain once on the ride over to the pit, even as Dean broke every traffic law and probably seriously fucked up Baby's suspension. "How can you not _know_ -"

"It's chaos over there, Dean, we may not know anything for hours -"

Traffic backed up a block or two from the pit, so Dean parked on a patch of dirt and sprinted with Bobby the rest of the way.

Aside from the swarm of activity, everything looked normal - blue skies, no flames or smoldering rubble - but Dean had seen a raging fire spring from the faintest tendril of smoke. He raced down the hill toward the tunnel, aiming for one of the mantrips, trying not to picture what he’d find below, when he heard, " _DEAN!_ " and scrambled to turn.

The sight of his father standing there covered in coal dust was the best thing he'd ever seen.

The next second he had him crushed in as tight a hug as he could manage, breathing his dirty, bloody scent, relishing the feel of the arms that had comforted him for as long as he could remember, nothing running through his brain but _thankyouthankyouthankyou_. "I'm okay - " his Dad choked out, voice harsh with soot and exertion.

"What the hell happened?" Dean asked, not even close to letting go. Behind him, he heard Bobby dialing Sam, who was probably halfway here already, to let him know.

"Cave-in," Dad said, and broke off to cough. Dean finally pulled back and took a moment to check him all over, finding some scratches and bumps but not much more.

"I thought it was an explosion," Dean said.

"We thought it was," his Dad coughed. "Huge crash, smoke everywhere, but -" more coughing, "No fire, we -" he broke off again.

"Jesus, Dad, sit down," Dean said, noticing the volunteer paramedics behind him for the first time.

"Dean, there's -" his Dad wheezed. "There's men down there."

"You got out, you just focus on getting better," Dean said.

"We were going to drive him over to the ER," one of the volunteers said.

"Yes," Dean said gratefully. "Dad, c’mon, go."

"You -"

"I have to stay here and help," he said. "Dad. Please."

With a final, exhausted look, his Dad let himself be taken away with a few of the others who'd gotten out. Dean and Bobby jumped onto a mantrip with some off-duty miners and men from town and headed down into the pit.

Everything seemed normal until the elevator doors opened at the base. Coal soot was everywhere, lights were askew and mostly off, flashlight beams bounced all over the place, and it was total pandemonium as people ran back and forth, helping injured miners get to the elevator, treating some wounded in place, and organizing into groups.

"We need help over here!" Dean heard someone shout, and he and Bobby headed toward the sound. Near the core of the cave-in, Dean blanched as he saw a hand, then started when he realized it was attached to someone alive. He dropped to his knees next to the miner, a man he'd never met, who was grimacing in pain - his leg trapped under a mountain of coal. Dean immediately joined the men who were frantically shifting rock to get him free, bumping shoulders with -

"Cas?" he asked, shocked. He was almost unrecognizable, hunched over the rubble, hands cut and bleeding, his skin almost the same color as his hair, slick with sweat and dirt. He met Dean's eyes for only a second before he returned to shifting rocks off the trapped man. Dean and Bobby followed suit.

The miner screamed in pain as the rocks got light enough to lift directly off his leg, and Dean could imagine why - the pressure must have been staving off some of the pain. Just as he was beginning to worry if they should have left him in place - was he going to bleed out now? - some of the volunteer medics approached with what looked like inflatable pants, and the thought of why those were needed made Dean nauseated enough to shift his focus elsewhere.

"Bill!" he yelped. Ellen's husband was lying on the floor nearby, thankfully not crushed but bleeding profusely from a jagged cut on his forehead. He was beginning to move his arms and legs, which Dean figured made it safe enough to move him away from the active cave-in zone. "Bobby, help me -" he got out, and together they carried him carefully back toward the elevator, onto a stretcher, and up to the surface.

" _BILL_ ," he heard once they got there, and then Ellen was on them, crying, shaking, grasping her husband's face in her hands.

"Ellen, he's okay, c'mon, let them," Dean said, holding her, trying to give the doctors room to work. Bill was already blinking his eyes open and staring dazedly at her, but they held him down as they mopped up the cut on his head, shone a light in his eyes, and checked him for more serious damage. “Bill you son of a bitch," Ellen was weeping brokenly, make-up streaking down her face in wet clumps.

Dean glanced at the elevator, wondering if he should go down again. "Hey," he flagged down one of the emergency responders, a young black woman wearing an oversized jumpsuit and a badge that said _Earl_. "Are there more people trapped down there?"

"We're not sure," probably-not-Earl said. "We haven't been able to find records of who was on shift. We've gotten anyone we could see, but there could be men trapped, and it's hard to know -"

"Rufus," Bill slurred. Everyone turned to him.

"What?" Bobby asked.

Bill was trying to sit up feebly, and Ellen broke out of Dean's grasp to slide a hand under his back and cradle him. "It's okay, baby, shh," she crooned. "Take your time."

"Rufus and me," Bill said, voice nearly gone. "We was... it was us."

"What was you?" Earl asked.

"The cave-in," Bill whispered. "We was drillin' into the... pillar -" he broke off to cough. Dean became aware that Cas was standing next to them at the exact moment he realized what Bill was saying.

They had been retreat mining. The exact thing Cas's robots were supposed to make safer. 

The ones the mine didn't have.

"So Rufus was at the site of the cave-in?" Earl asked. She got out a radio to call it in -

"Pushed me outta the way," Bill coughed. His eyes were drooping. "I was right under - he pushed me," he said.

He gave a wet cough, and Ellen's arms tightened on him. "You're not gonna find him," he finished, staring at the ground.

Ellen clapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide and wet. Earl clenched her jaw but spun away, speaking quickly into her radio, probably trying to coordinate another rescue attempt. Dean felt frozen, all the way through to his bones. Cas was staring at the ground, and said nothing.

Bobby's face was white, still as marble.

"What is going on here?" They suddenly heard, in a grating, familiar voice. Dean turned to see a new group approaching, all in suits and ties. Zachariah was leading them.

"What on earth - have you lunatics gone _into_ the mine? After a cave-in? Are you insane, have you not heard of procedure?" Zach was waving his hands wildly, eyes bugged with fury. "We have protocols in place, we have an official rescue team, we could get _sued_ -"

One minute Zach was looming over them, the next he was laid out on the dirt floor, bleeding and gasping for breath. Cas stood over him, clenched fist at his side.

Dean wasn’t really sure what happened after that - Cas had kept going, whaling and punching and kicking on Zach, and a bunch of the suited guys had intervened, and Dean’s arms were around him at one point, and Bobby had been shouting, everyone was shouting, and somehow Dean and Cas ended up in the Impala, parked outside the Bough.

Cas got out without a word. Dean sighed, dug in his pocket, and dialed Sammy’s cell.

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam answered. “Oh my god, are you on your way? What’s going on?”

“Where are you?” Dean asked.

“Hospital, with Dad.” Now that he focused, he could hear the beeping and hustle of a hospital behind Sammy’s voice.

“How is he?” Dean asked. The world outside the car was so, so dark, even the house looming up next to him, even the light from the windows.

“He’s good,” Sam said. “God, Dean, he got so lucky. He’s out now, they gave him a sedative ‘cause he was having trouble breathing. He inhaled a lot of coal dust, I guess. But he’s gonna be fine.”

“Jesus,” Dean said, rubbing his brow, still shaking.

“Are you coming over?” Sam’s voice was tinny over the phone.

Dean stared up at the dark house. “No, I got some stuff to take care of here. Maybe later,” he said.

“Okay,” Sam said. “See you soon. Dean?” he asked hurriedly.

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

Dean’s eyes burned. “You too, bro,” he said hoarsely. “Get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” Sam sighed, and hung up.

Thunder shook the earth as Dean got out of the car and hurried inside. Wind had picked up in the distance - a storm coming in.

The house was empty, even Benny nowhere to be found. Dean poked his head in a few rooms before he heard a crash from upstairs. Steeling himself, he climbed the steps and opened the door to Cas’s room.

Furniture had been overturned and tossed, cabinets emptied, knick-knacks spread across the floor. The fire was roaring, burning what looked like photographs, paper, and clothes. Feathers were floating near the bed where a pillow had been ripped open and tossed.

Cas was sitting on a pile of bedding that had slid off the mattress, halfway on the floor in front of the fire. He stared into the light, his eyes glassy.

“Cas, what’re you doing?” Dean asked. He dropped to Cas’s side and lifted one of his hands - his knuckles were raw and bloody, the skin almost completely scraped off in places. “Jesus, I should get you to the hospital too.”

“I’m fine,” Cas whispered. “I don’t feel anything.”

He was trembling. “Stay here,” Dean said, and wet a towel in Cas’s bathroom. He brought it back out and started gently cleaning Cas’s knuckles. 

That finally got Cas to look at him, scowling as he jerked his hands away. But the irritation only lasted a moment, and Cas’s gaze was blank again when he said, “What are you doing here.”

“Tryin’ to keep you from getting tetanus, man, c’mon -”

Cas pulled his hand from Dean’s again. “You should be with your father.”

“He’s fine,” Dean said. “Out of it, according to Sam. Like you should be, if you’d let me -”

Cas stood up unsteadily and crossed the room. “I thought it would be obvious, Dean,” he told the wall, “but you’re released. Our bargain’s over.”

Dean stood too. “You think I’m -

“I have - I have utterly failed -”

“- here for our “bargain”?”

Cas spun wildly. “I have no idea why you’re here! I have no idea why you would want to be near somebody - some _thing_ that -”

Dean took a step toward him. “What, Cas?”

“Rufus is _dead_ ,” Cas shouted. “He’s gone! And if I had spent half as much time thinking about helping the mine as I did about getting into your _bed_ , he would be alive right now!”

“It’s not your fault, Cas,” Dean said, drawing closer. “You said yourself, you don’t own the mine.”

“I -”

“You started fixing it as soon as you heard there were problems -”

“I should’ve known,” Cas spat. “I could’ve done more. It’s my family’s mine, my responsibility. And instead, I -” his eyes narrowed until they were glittering slits in an inhuman face. “I forced you to stay here, for _sex_. It was a game, Dean, you said it yourself!” Dean swallowed, raised his hands, but Cas didn’t seem to see him anymore, words pouring out of him like bile. “You were right, it was a twisted, evil _game_ and someone _died_. That’s unforgivable. That’s irredeemable. I’m exactly what you called me, a soulless, worthless -”

He grabbed the tiny ceramic bird from the mantle, where it had lived since Denver, and threw it past Dean, at the door, where it shattered with a shrieking crash.

Dean turned back to Cas and stepped forward until he was close enough to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t touch me,” Cas hissed, but his voice broke and his gasps of breath were wet. He backed away, Dean following him. “I - the town, Dean,” he babbled, “I failed the town, and I need - the town is everything -” his eyes widened, and he turned away, but Dean turned with him, and he was still talking, “to me, Dean, I can’t - can’t live with-”

Dean kissed him. A second later his shoulders exploded in pain as Cas shoved him away violently. “GET OFF ME,” he shouted, voice torn and piercing. Dean pushed him right back, up against the wall, holding him by his shoulders, flattening him against it. Cas fought like a wild thing, tears running down his face, veins bugging in his neck, dirty and desperate.

Dean pulled him into a hug. Cas sagged into it, crying freely now. Dean stroked his hair, gritty soft, rubbed circles into his back as he shook, took deep, calming breaths, trying to suffuse Cas with it. He tipped his chin up and kissed him softly, his mouth salty and raw. They shared breath for a moment. “Dean... please...” Cas said almost inaudibly. Dean knew he was begging him to leave.

But that wasn’t possible. He kissed him again, and they stumbled down onto the half-blanket floor by the fire.

The kissing was crazy, urgent, deep, necessary. Dean ran his hands under Cas’s shirt, peeling it off, needing to feel his skin, his warmth, the rise and fall of his ribs, to see his body whole and intact. Cas kept dragging Dean’s lips back to his, grabbing at him as if he’d vanish when they stopped touching, needy and mindless. Dean’s shirt was hanging off his arm and he had one shoe off, but he couldn’t bring himself to be coordinated. He slid a knee between Cas’s thighs and grabbed a handful of his ass, tugged him closer, grinding, his thoughts chaotic but single-minded. He finally broke off from Cas’s mouth and levered himself down, rubbing his lips over Cas’s stomach, and shoved his dirty pants down and off along with his boxers, bringing Cas’s dick into view for the second time in as many days.

“Dean, stop, you don’t have to-” he heard above him, before he swallowed Cas down as far as he could. 

Cas’s helpless grunt was a thing of beauty. He twisted and yelped and Dean held his hips still so he could get a better mouthful. Cas gasped for breath and pushed a bloody hand through Dean’s hair, caressing, pulling, pleading. Dean had no idea what to do so he used his hand to steady himself and laved him with his tongue and sucked as hard as he could and did anything he could think of, anything he thought girls might have ever done to him, anything to distract Cas, to make him feel good, to show him he _was_ good, special, cherished - 

Cas came, and Dean choked, pulled off, and spat all over the floor.

There was a frozen moment as Cas continued to breathe like a freight train and Dean finished gagging and then stared at the spattered come on the floor in complete and utter shame. _I have failed blowjobs everywhere._ But then Cas pulled him back up by his armpits and licked his palm and Dean remembered how hard he was and Cas wrapped that slippery hand around his dick and he forgot his own name. Cas’s eyes were so blue and his hand so tight and his lips so soft and Dean came so hard he blacked out momentarily. 

He came back to the feeling of Cas underneath him, shaking like he was freezing. Dean slid a hand under his back and got them both up and onto the bed. He tried to pick something they wouldn’t need immediately to wipe them down, then got them both under the covers. He shucked the rest of his clothes and rubbed up and down Cas’s arms and over his stomach and through his hair until he stopped trembling and started snoring. 

He stayed awake for a long time staring at Cas sleep.

***

When he woke up, Cas was gone. The room seemed cleaner, though, and the sun shining in made it seem like a new day in more ways than one. Dean stumbled to his own bedroom, took a much-needed shower (coal dust, blood, and come, not a good combo), threw out yesterday’s clothes, put on new ones, and sped most of the way to the hospital.

He found Sammy asleep in a hard plastic chair and shook him awake, taking the seat next to him as he blinked his way to consciousness. “Hey!”

They shared a tight hug that went on longer than Dean would ever admit. “How’s Dad?” he asked.

“Still asleep,” Sammy said. “You want to - ?”

They trudged in and sat with him, even though he was out like a light and would be for a while. Nothing like unconsciousness to make breathing through coal-abraded lungs a little easier.

“You missing class or anything?” Dean asked after a bit.

“It’s fine,” Sammy said.

“Yeah,” Dean said. “I guess you’re already, uh...” he trailed off.

Sam gave him a truly reptilian look. “I meant since it’s an emergency, Dean.”

“No, no, I - fuck,” Dean sighed. “I was trying to - I owe you an apology,” he said.

Sam looked genuinely shocked. “Yeah?”

“I was a dick,” Dean said. “I should never have yelled at you for doing something good. Something - Stanford, it’s _amazing_ , Sammy. I’m really proud of you.” He smiled, hoping it covered the sound of his heart pounding.

Sammy’s face opened hopefully. “No, I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t think about how it would seem to you, how scary moving that far away would be - and the last few days... I’m not even sure -”

“No, you gotta go,” Dean frowned, cutting him off. “Are you kidding me?”

“But you and Dad,” Sam said, glancing at John lying so still on the bed, his eyes watering.

“Listen to me,” Dean said tightly. “You have to do this, Sammy. It’s what you’re made for, and all this just proves if you have the chance to do something where the biggest risk is papercuts?” Sam gave a watery laugh. “You gotta go,” Dean repeated. “Dad and me’ll be just fine.”

Sammy rested a hand on his shoulder, and Dean gripped it tight for a moment before letting go. They sat with their Dad, measuring time in how often the prettiest nurses walked by.

***

On the way back from the hospital Dean pulled into Singer Salvage.

He found Bobby in the kitchen, at his table, Johnny Walker Blue and glass at hand. He didn’t look up when the door opened, or when Dean took the seat next to him. He didn’t move when Dean took off his coat, grabbed another glass, or topped them both off. 

Bobby’s kitchen over some Johnny Walker Blue was as good a place as any to watch the sun set. It glinted off the ruined cars, painted the hard-packed dirt a glowing red. “To Rufus,” Dean said, toasting with his third or fourth glass. 

Bobby downed his drink. Dean poured him another.

***

Dean was exhausted when he got back to the Bough, drained and hungry and kinda hungover and just looking for something with a heartbeat to collapse onto.

Cas was still nowhere to be found, so Dean settled for collapsing into his own bed, but sleep didn’t come. Instead, he finally let himself worry about what Cas would say when he saw him tonight. He hadn’t read too much into there not being a note or anything when he’d woken up - there was a lot of shit going on, and they weren’t really note people, and they’d see each other eventually, right? When they did, would Cas pretend last night never happened? Was he as nervous about it as Dean was? Was he still a wreck - had Dean made it worse? He turned onto his back and reflected that temperatures had been running high at the time. It wouldn’t be surprising if people had... regrets. Small ones. Related to... logistics, mostly.

Mostly, Dean regretted Cas ever being as despondent as he’d been last night. It was true that every horrible thing he had said about himself was something Dean had probably thought in his angriest moment, but he knew now that Cas had paid those debts. Dean could respect the standard Cas held himself to. And his talk about caring about _the town_...

The doorbell rang, interrupting his internal chick-flick moment. He waited for a sec, seeing if maybe Benny _was_ around, then hauled himself out of bed when the bell started ringing and ringing and ringing, nonstop. _Psychotic girl scouts?_ , he wondered, padding down to the door.

It was not psychotic girl scouts; it was a startlingly handsome guy, heading a group of several also-attractive skankily-dressed girls and guys, who were all glancing around with the air of someone waiting for the previews to end so the movie will start.

“Uh, hi?” Dean asked. The guy up front was looking him up and down. Dean had the strangest feeling he’d seen him before.

“Hi,” handsome said. “Is Castiel here?”

“No,” Dean said. “Can I help you?”

Handsome leaned against the doorframe and smiled. “I’m Ion.”

The bottom dropped out of Dean’s stomach.

“Cas called me,” Ion continued. “Will he be home soon?” His entourage shuffled restlessly, one of them thumbing a trail of white off the side of her nose. 

Dean’s stomach was still gone, but he apparently didn’t need it to reply, “Yes, I’m sure he will. You can wait in here.”

He stepped to the side as they filed in, most seeming to know where to go. Ion turned to him as he closed the door. “You’re staying too, I hope,” he grinned flirtatiously.

Dean did his best approximation of an apologetic smile. “Nope. I was just leaving.”


	13. Chapter 13

There was something morbid about princesses.

Specifically, about standing in a Toys R Us debating the merits of one princess doll versus another, when he'd so recently been digging coal until his knuckles bled, bandaging wounds to a never-ending soundtrack of coughing, and going from hospital bed to sterile, bleached-white hospital bed. It seemed especially cruel that peoples' last moments be spent somewhere so colorless.

So the bright pinks and aquas of the toy store should have been uplifting. Instead, they were just creepy.

Cas eventually picked a doll at random, threw a few teddy bears in there, picked a lego set that he thought would provide some much-needed stimulation for the older kids, and added a little scowling octopus because it was cute.

Dean would get it. Either that, or he would stare at Cas judgmentally in that way Cas knew meant he was laughing on the inside.

On the way back to the hospital he stopped at Starbucks to pick up as many coffees as he could carry, and the grocery store to grab a few of those roasted chickens and some other sides, the kind people wouldn't have to do more than heat up. Food felt like an odd way of showing support, but grieving families don't make grocery runs, and people spending their day in an ER waiting room forget to eat unless it's put right in front of them. 

He was greeted with wan thanks when he returned, the food tucked away for later, the coffee swapped out for the tepid hospital variety, and the toys passed out to the kids, who were learning what the combination of fear and boredom felt like. After the initial flurry of activity everyone slowly returned to their holding pattern, and the silence and stillness unnerved him. He was debating making another run - visit some of the families who were at home, maybe, see if they needed anything else - when he jumped at a light touch on his elbow. 

Ellen smiled apologetically. "Hey, Cas. Did you -"

"Oh, yes,” he said. “I let them in, closed up behind them, everything seemed to go fine. I’m sorry I took longer than I said I would, I made a few stops on the way here."

"I can see that," she said. "You're a good one, Cas. Damn distributors don't understand the meaning of family emergency."

"Happy to help," he said, handing her the keys to the Roadhouse. "Anything else I can do?"

"Invent a time machine?" She replied wearily, sitting down again.

"How's Bill?" he asked.

"Still asleep," Ellen said. "But it sounds like he got real lucky."

_Lucky._ Except for having had the misfortune of being employed by Castiel's family. He knew what Ellen meant, though: luckier than Rufus and Irv, the other miner they hadn't found.

"Cas?" Ellen asked.

He realized she'd been calling his name for a while. "What?"

"I asked, how are _you_ doing?"

Cas blinked. "Fine?"

She pinned him with a look. "Fine? You been running yourself ragged all day, here and back, gathering supplies, doing peoples' errands -"

_Not enough._ "It's the least I can do."

"And we appreciate it," Ellen said. "But maybe you oughta get some rest too."

Cas checked his phone. Still nothing from his father - he'd left him a message after the cave-in, but he’d be swamped with his own responsibilities in the wake of the disaster, so Cas didn't expect to hear for a while. "Yes. Soon," he told Ellen.

She stared at him for a long moment, then patted his knee, got up, and let herself into Bill's room.

Cas glanced around. Most of the families were still occupying themselves with the supplies he'd brought, or sitting by their loved ones’ bedsides. A middle-aged woman with black hair sat quietly in a corner, staring at the floor. Cas got up to sit by her. 

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked.

She looked at him. He didn’t know her name or her connection to the mine, but it didn't really matter. She'd tell him if she wanted to. He waited.

"Pray with me?" she asked.

He paused, unsure what to say. "Okay," he said, and they bowed their heads.

Thankfully, she didn't seem to expect spoken prayer. He wasn’t sure what he’d have said if she did. Cas didn't believe in god, he believed in things he could see and touch. He believed in sin, but not hellfire and damnation; he believed in the evil of his own inaction, and the hell of being in this hospital, surrounded by grief he was the sole cause of.

As for the rest... Cas winced as memories of last night ran through his head. He’d been so crazed, so crude, so _pathetic_. He’d wanted to be alone, and he honestly wasn’t sure what he’d have done if he had been. But Dean hadn’t left. That he hadn’t seemed to care about Cas’s behavior, his failings - that Cas was starving for punishment, for retribution, and Dean gave compassion and solace and peace... it was unthinkable. Cas didn’t believe in divine mercy or forgiveness, but last night had been the closest he thought he’d ever come to heaven.

Obviously, the needs of the town came first, but Cas couldn't wait to get home to him. Except for the small matter of what the hell they'd say to each other. And what Dean really thought. And what they’d do next. 

A dry hand enveloped his own, and Cas opened his eyes to see the woman gazing at him warmly. Apparently just sitting was enough to constitute prayer. Or at least, to provide comfort.

But wasn't that how Dean had comforted him last night? Not just the sex, but... staying with him. Refusing to walk away.

He smiled at the woman and squeezed her hand.

***

It was late when Cas finally got home. Probably later than he should have stayed out, especially when he wasn't entirely sure where Benny was, and hadn't told Dean -

He stopped in the foyer, arrested by the sound of dubstep coming from the drawing room. _Weird._ He climbed the steps and pushed his way inside, finding -

A flashback to his immediate past: Ion and his posse were draped over the furniture, music thumping, booze and bottles everywhere, though thankfully no zoo animals (yet). "Ion?" He turned at his name, and his eyes lit up when he saw Cas. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you mean?" Ion asked, rolling into a sitting position. "You called me. Well, texted."

Cas frowned, and a vague memory came back to him - a few nights ago, the pool game. "Oh. Uh, sorry, it was - something of a drunk dial."

Ion made an offended little moue. "You don't want us here?"

Cas rolled his eyes. "I don't know if you passed a TV on your way into town, but we're in the middle of a crisis. And I shouldn't have even called you - in fact, you should probably go, before -"

"Is this because of that fine piece you already have?" Ion interrupted, and Cas's world froze.

"My - what?" He asked.

"Yeah, Blue Steel. Well, hazel," Ion smirked. "He is unreal. I didn't think anyone was actually that hot in real life. Where did you _find_ him?"

Ion frowned, and Cas realized he had grabbed him by the shoulders. "You met Dean? You spoke to him?"

"Brown hair, green eyes, plaid all over?" Ion asked. "Yeah, he showed us in. Can he come too?"

Cas was already sprinting to Dean's bedroom.

It was empty. Every item of clothing gone from the dresser, every book gone from the desk, no toiletries in the bathroom, even the trash was emptied. His heart pounded sickeningly. He ran down to the living room - all of Dean's DVDs were gone from the shelf. Nothing remained to show he’d ever lived at the Bough.

_Fuck._

Dean was gone.

***

It was a small mercy that Dad and Sammy were still at the hospital, so that the house was empty when Dean dropped his bags on the floor.

The familiar shadows and scent of the place were comforting - the ratty blanket thrown over the couch, the food moldering in the back of the fridge, the way the window in his room stuck a little unless you budged it slightly to the left (which you wouldn't even want to, because it opened onto the neighbor's trash cans, but still). Books back on the shelf, clothes back in the dresser, shampoo back in the shower caddy - his old life reasserted itself one room at a time. Everything he'd been looking forward to for weeks, come early. Christmas in July.

His phone started ringing when he'd been home an hour. He turned it off. Anyone he wanted to talk to could find him here.

Unfortunately, his address wasn't exactly a state secret, and a few hours after he turned off his phone, someone came to the door and started hammering.

"Dean!" he heard. " _Dean_ , come on, please, I need to talk to you. Dean!"

He turned his walkman up louder and flipped the page of his Vonnegut. He'd turned all the porch lights out and any that were visible from the street, but Baby was parked outside, so it was clear he was home. Still, nothing to do but read. Kinda hard to concentrate on the words with Metallica blaring, but it drowned out everything else.

He fell asleep with the book on his chest and metal filling his ears, so he had no idea how long Cas stayed outside.

***

Dad came home the next day. He was still weak as a kitten, and the doctor had loaded him up with a pharmacy's worth of pills, so Sammy announced that he’d stay with them until Dad was back on his feet, to help Dean take care of things.

No one asked if Dean was doing the same or home for good, and that suited him just fine.

The cave-in had done as much for Dean and Dad's relationship as it had for Sam and Dean's - the chilliness of the last few weeks was gone, impossible to maintain when Dean was making him sandwiches and bullying him into taking his meds and bringing him three blankets whether he said he was cold or not.

"Quit mothering me," he grumped during an episode of Original Series.

"Quit fighting it," Dean replied. "I'll turn it to Oprah and hide the remote, I swear to god."

Dad grumbled but said only, "You got bossy."

" _Got?_ " Dean asked, standing by the stove. Sam had run over to campus to grab whatever he'd need to stay here for the next few days. "Been taking care of both of you since as long as I can remember."

Dad frowned. "Man's supposed to take care of his children," he muttered.

Dean rolled his eyes, bringing him some stew. "Exception for near-death experience." Dad had a funny look on his face as he accepted the bowl, and had just opened his mouth when a knock at the door started them both. 

Dad stared at Dean curiously when he made no move to get it, and almost started getting up himself when they heard, through the door, a tentative, "... Dean?"

Dean scowled fiercely enough that Dad immediately dropped back onto the sofa. "Stay here," he said unnecessarily, and yanked the door open.

Cas seemed startled that Dean had actually answered, stumbling backwards as Dean pulled the door shut behind him. Bugs droned in the twilight as they stared at each other.

God, it was unfair. Dean remembered when they had first met, what a wreck Cas had been. All the partying and drugs and complete lack of inhibitions had left him lesser, somehow - paler, thinner, all harsh shadows and milky brights, a greenish two-tone.

Now? Dean’s messed-up brain kept spitting out _fairy tale_ \- Cas's hair was so black, eyes so blue, lips so red, skin not white but flushed and healthy and warm. It was like someone had flipped a switch and turned the colors on.

And the worst part - Dean knew who it was.

"What?" he asked, staring at a weed cracking through the asphalt.

"I - I assume you're here because you - you ran into -"

"Ion?" Dean asked, looking up and shocking himself by managing a normal-sounding chuckle. "I have to say, that is a dumb-ass name for a whore." Cas flinched and tried to speak, but Dean kept right on going. "I guess I wouldn't know - girls all have names like Sapphire and Jade Blue Afterglow, but are guys different? Do they all pick weird science-y shit for their working names?"

" _Dean_ ," Cas interjected. "Ion is not a prostitute -"

“Really, that’s what you’re going with?” Dean asked. “Everything’s cool if you didn’t pay him?”

Cas swallowed. "Okay - I did call Ion, but it was after the pool game." He chanced a nervous look at Dean. "When I was... very frustrated. Not that that's an excuse!" He rushed to add. "I was just - I was angry, and high -" Dean scowled, "and I never would have _done_ anything, especially not -" He paused, his voice growing thick. "Especially not after the other night."

Dean narrowed his eyes. “All that happened the other night is you _won_ , Cas.” Cas frowned, confused. “Our bargain? You won, fair and square! You got me..." he trailed off, his stomach turning as memories of the other night rushed back to him. "Well, I don't really know what counts as _sex_ in this case, but you got off, so I'm calling that a win."

Cas looked horrified. "Dean -"

"No, it's okay. You got what you wanted. Why wouldn’t you go back to Ion and his friends, Proton and Neutron?"

The joke fell into the aching silence between them. "That's not how it is, Dean," Cas finally said. "I didn't call him because - because I - what you -" he paused, and his voice dropped to a whisper. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh?" Dean’s voice was icy.

Cas looked up at him, his face open and raw. "You saved me," he said, and for a second Dean thought he must be high again, because he wasn’t making any sense, but Cas persisted. "It was supposed to be my job to save the mine, save the town, but instead you saved me. You woke me up. It wasn’t about winning a bet." His eyes shone. "I need you, Dean."

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. He felt sick, too much pumping through his heart at once. This Cas, the healthy, yearning Cas who’d beg Dean’s forgiveness with fucking poetry, was painful to behold.

But Dean had only known this Cas a month. The drug-addled Cas he’d first met - the one who called Ion - that’s who he’d been his whole life. That’s who he’d be when the chips were down.

Dean didn’t feel angry. He didn’t feel hurt or betrayed. Those were somewhere else, somewhere deeper, shut under the smooth teflon facade of Dean’s calm. It was much simpler this way. Much easier.

"It was just a game, Cas," he said. "It wasn't real."

Cas looked stricken. "It was real for me.”

"Then I'm sorry," he said, and slammed the door in Cas's face.

*** 

Cas returned to the Bough to find his mother waiting for him.

It had been at least two years since they’d seen each other, but she hadn’t aged a day. Her suit was as neatly-pressed as ever, her hair perfectly coiffed, her makeup expertly applied and reeking of money. “Castiel,” she greeted him, with a warm smile.

He stared in shock for only a moment. He had been praying that the house would be empty when he came back, and indeed, judging by the lack of thumping base or body odor, Ion’s crowd had all left. But this was an entirely different hurdle.

He shut the door behind him. If he’d been thinking clearly, trying to be pleasant and diplomatic, he’d have said _Mother_. But he was exhausted and wary and heartsick, so he defaulted to, “Naomi.” Her flinch was almost indiscernible. “Uh, welcome.”

“Thank you, Castiel,” she said. “I would have waited in one of the rooms, but your butler seems to be away.”

“Yes. It’s, um, been a trying few days,” Cas said, stepping further into the room.

“I heard,” Naomi said, her voice soft. “Castiel... your father and I are concerned.”

“I would expect so,” he said. “Two men missing, presumed dead, dozens more injured -”

“I meant concerned about you, Castiel,” she said, with an anxious little frown. “The... drinking, and the drugs, I expected. Ever since you’ve been off your medication, you’ve been... unstable.” He sighed, everything settling into place with painful familiarity. “But going into the mine after the cave-in in defiance of safety regulations? Illegally altering the finances of the company, dragging other innocent employees into your mess? Fraternizing with locals?”

“So, to be clear,” he said, “you’re here to dress me down about _my_ activities. You’re not at all concerned that two men died in our mine.” 

“Of course I’m concerned,” she said, and the worst part was, she sounded completely genuine. She did a remarkable facsimile of human compassion - maybe she even believed it, Cas was never sure. “I’m heartbroken. It’s a tragedy. Coal mining is a dangerous business.”

“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, almost hissing. “We’re rolling in cash, mother, this is not a low-margin business. I’ve been doing my research, there are easy improvements- ”

“This isn’t your area, Castiel,” she said gently. “There are several divisions of the company your father and I would be happy to place you at, but -”

“So, that’s it?” he asked. “Two men dead, and you’re doing nothing?”

“We will of course do everything we can to support the families of those affected -”

“But nothing to actually prevent it from happening again. Nothing to make the mine safer, certainly none of my “meddlesome” security improvements.”

Naomi gave him a pitying look. “Clearly, they didn’t work.”

“They weren’t _implemented_.” He knew, in the logical part of his brain, that getting angry just fed her own infuriating calm. But he couldn’t help it, it was chemical. It predated his ability for logical thought.

“Castiel,” Naomi said sadly, shaking her head. “It feels, at times, like I have spent eons attempting to help you. To teach you how to behave. And it just doesn’t stick.”

Cas took a slow breath. “No, I think I’ve learned plenty from you.”

She straightened her shoulders, preparing for what she’d really come to say. “Counsel has convinced Mr. Adler not to press assault charges. Your father asked me to come here and make it clear that you are not to have any further interaction with _any_ Davies International projects unless explicitly invited to do so. I don’t have the energy to keep you from persisting with your lifestyle -”

“I doubt that,” Cas muttered.

“- We thought that relocating to a quiet, beautiful community like this would do you some good.” Her eyes narrowed. “But rest assured, there are other mansions. Other communities, even more remote, that we could send you to.”

His heart gave a weak thump, but he didn’t have enough left of himself for fear. “Thank you for coming, Mother,” he said. “Can I get you a drink for the road?”

She smiled her surgeon’s smile. “No, Castiel. But thank you.”

***

An Irish wake was one of the more enjoyable mourning traditions out there, but even Dean knew you weren’t really supposed to get drunk at one - the point was to celebrate the departed by reminiscing, telling their favorite jokes, and making sure to appreciate those who remained. Not getting shitfaced.

Well. Rufus would understand.

Sammy had stayed home with Dad, because duh. Ellen was glaring at Dean from behind the bar, no doubt appalled at his method of grieving, but Jo managed to keep her restrained and still send Dean beers. In the back a large group of uninjured miners, friends, and family was gathered, getting larger and rowdier as the afternoon wore on. Dean flinched when someone shouted “To the Davies!” sarcastically. Mangled slurs and insults followed.

“They’re all the same, man,” someone else replied. “Don’t care about us. We don’t matter.”

“They’ll have to do something now,” another voice chimed in.

“Nope,” came the reply. Dean turned in his chair to watch... Frank, maybe? One of the off-duty miners who’d recently arrived. “Just heard it at the hospital. Zach’s still in charge, no one’s getting fired. And they’re going back to the retreat next week - putting us all on overtime to make up for the _lost product_ ,” he finished, with air quotes.

There was a chorus of outraged disbelief from the group. “Nothing changes,” someone said sadly. “It’s just the cost of doing business.”

Dean stared into his beer, the heady smell suddenly making him nauseous. If he’d had any expectation of Cas at least waiting a decent interval to completely fuck the town over in retribution for Dean leaving... 

That would have been stupid as shit.

He started drinking more heavily after that, so of course Ellen ended up shoving him in a car with Jo before the sun set. She dropped him off just as Sam was getting back from a grocery run. “Uh, good wake?” he asked.

“Shut up,” Dean said, weaving inside.

Dad was perched on the couch as usual, watching some soap under five layers of blankets. His eyes flicked over Dean. “That Davies boy came by again,” he said. Sam’s eyes snapped to Dean, surprised, and his stomach roiled.

“What’d he say?”

“Nothing,” John shrugged. “I didn’t answer.”

Dean swayed on his feet for a second, then dropped onto the couch next to him. “Good.”

Sam gave a small sigh and went to put away the groceries. “I heard he was down in the pit,” Dad added.

Dean turned to him. “Huh?”

“The Davies kid. Castiel. Heard he went down right after the cave-in, was digging folks out.”

Dean felt cold, and closed his eyes. “Yeah, well, don’t rush to thank him. Just heard at the bar, Zach’s staying on, they’re not doing shit to fix the mine.”

John whistled. “Shit. That’s typical.”

“Yeah.”

“That why you’re back?”

“Huh?” Dean opened his eyes to stare at Dad again.

“Whatever was going on with Davies -”

Dean blinked at him. “It wasn’t - “ He blew out a rough breath. “I guess I can tell you now. It was a - bet. A deal. I live at the Bough and let people talk shit about me, and in return Cas does what he can for the mine. I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone about it, that was part of the deal.” He scoffed. “And now it’s all for nothing, ‘cuz Cas is taking back everything he did or said he’d do, because I left.”

John frowned. “So, wait, you didn’t leave because of the cave-in?”

“Well -” Dean said, “I -”

“Why _did_ you leave?”

Dean scowled. His Dad was way too sharp for a shiftless alcoholic doped up on pain pills. “I’ll be in my room,” he said, and stomped away. He’d only been blissfully puddled on his bed for a minute or two before the knock came. “Go away,” didn’t work, and a second later an inch or two too much brother was sitting on the bed next to him. 

“So it was a bet, huh? You living at the Bough?”

Since the conversation seemed inevitable, Dean rolled over until one eye was showing. “Yeah. Fucked up, right? Rich people.”

“Pretty weird,” Sam agreed. “It’s not what I guessed.”

Dean frowned, then saw the tender expression on his brother’s face. “Oh, c’mon, Sammy, not you too.”

“What, Dean? You were -”

“What?” Dean snapped.

Sam fidgeted for a moment, then said, “You seemed happy.”

“Happy? Getting into fights, Dad pissed at me, you too at the end -”

“Yeah, well, that’s kind of par for the course with us, isn’t it?” Sam asked wryly. “I don’t know, you were joking around more. Stuff didn’t seem to bother you as much. You just seemed - lighter. Like you had something...”

The pause bothered Dean. “Something what?”

Sam shrugged. “I was worried when you first left, but after you’d been there a while, I dunno - it was like it turned out to be the best thing that’d ever happened to you.” Pressure was building behind Dean’s eyes, squeezing around his heart. He stared at the quilt cover until it went away. “So you won’t tell why you left?”

Dean shrugged, impressed the loose gesture didn’t break something. “Never felt right.”

“Really?”

He looked back up at his brother, his kind, sensitive brother who wanted the universe to be rainbows and candy corn. “It was a bet, okay, Sam?” he said. Maybe a little too roughly, but he was just trying to set the kid’s mind at ease. “I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I don’t know what to tell you. It wasn’t me.”

As they had so many times in the past, Sam pretended that was the end of it, and Dean let him.

***

There was a clattering, banging noise coming from downstairs.

Cas turned slowly, his neck stiff, frowning at the open door to his room. Who would be here? Mother had left. Everyone else was gone. 

He was alone.

When the thumping refused to stop he sighed, grabbed a lamp off his table, and crept down the stairs. The noise seemed to be coming from the garage. He raised the lamp, took a deep breath, rounded the corner, and - 

Yelped in surprise when Benny raised his arms defensively. He put a hand to his chest, wheezing. “Benny! Oh my god.”

Benny was trying his best not to look startled, his eyes flicking up and down Cas. “You been hittin’ the sauce again, brother?” He asked, slightly breathless.

“What? No, I thought you were a burglar,” Cas said, lowering the lamp. “Or a vengeful townsperson,” he muttered.

“I meant -” Benny gestured to Cas. Probably, he realized, to his bloodshot eyes and dirty clothes. And unusually birdsnest-y hair.

“Oh,” Cas said. “No. Just...” he trailed off, then decided it didn’t merit explaining. “Where’ve you been?”

Benny rubbed the back of his neck, unexpectedly bashful. “I found Andrea.”

Cas hadn’t thought he had a heart left to break, but something in his chest definitely cracked sympathetically at that. He smiled. “That’s great.”

“Everything with the mine,” Benny said, waving a hand. “...I figured, life’s too short.”

“Yeah,” Cas nodded. “That’s... very true.”

“You alright? You need something to eat?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You just got back, I’m not sending you straight to the kitchen,” Cas said. “Besides, I know how to use the microwave.”

Benny smiled, but it faded slowly as he really looked at Cas. “Cas...” he said, voice turning serious. “Where’s Dean?”

Cas took a step backwards involuntarily. Hearing it from Benny, standing in front of him familiar as anything, made it real in a way it hadn't been quite yet. He pinched his eyes and took a slow, shaky breath. “I... I screwed up,” he said, voice breaking.

“What’d you do?”

“You really want to know?” he croaked. Benny nodded, and Cas sighed, gesturing to the dining room with his lamp.

Relating the whole sordid tale sounded like reading aloud from a dollar-store romance novel, but Benny didn’t laugh once. “He’ll come around,” Benny said when he’d finished. “He just needs time.”

Cas shook his head. “I didn’t forget an anniversary. I ripped him from his family, toyed with his head, treated our one-day-old relationship with complete and utter disrespect, and failed to deliver on every promise I ever made him.” He sighed, his head between his knees. “I lived up to every insult he ever hurled at me.”

Benny _hmm_ ed thoughtfully, and they sat for a moment in silence. Then he said, “There is one thing left you could do.” Cas raised his head, inquiring. “What he’s asked you to do from the beginning.”

“What?”

“Rebel.”


	14. Chapter 14

Sam and Dad insisted on coming with Dean to the Roadhouse the next time he went out, turning his happy hour into a family dinner. Whatever, Dean could have beer for dinner. _With_ dinner. Besides, it was good that Dad was feeling solid enough to leave the house. He looked happy, staring at the menu under the rinky-dink lights, debating between nachos and hot wings, rolling his eyes with Dean when Sammy mentioned salad.

They had just ordered when Dean saw a familiar silhouette by the bar. “Be right back,” he said, sliding out of the booth before they could object.

Sure enough, it was - “Benny!” he said, and his friend turned to face him. “Hey!”

“Dean,” Benny said, grinning and pulling him into a back-thumping hug. “Good to see you, brother.”

“You too, man,” Dean said. “I was starting to get worried when I didn’t see you for a few days.”

“I could say the same,” Benny replied.

A wave of sickening embarrassment rolled through him. He wondered how much Benny knew. “Yeah, well,” he smiled tightly, backing away. “Just wanted to say hi.”

“Have a drink with me!” Benny said.

Dean shrugged guiltily. “Uh, I’m with my family - “

“Oh, sure,” Benny said. “Maybe we can hang out some other time. I have a lot of time on my hands now.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked. “Don’t tell me Cas fired you.”

“Oh, no, he’s just out of town,” Benny said, sipping his drink and staring past Dean.

Dean swallowed. _Don’t ask. Don’t ask._ “Oh?”

“He got the word from on high that DI wasn’t gonna do shit about the mine. Didn’t sit too well with him,” Benny said, looking at Dean pointedly. “The board’s having a meeting in Chicago day after tomorrow, from what I hear his parents and pretty much the whole company’s gonna be there. Cas decided to go up and, ah...”

“What?” Dean asked.

Benny shrugged. “I don’t know. Shut himself in his room the last few days, went through a lot of pencils and coffee. Left for Chicago this morning. He had that look in his eye, y’know, the kind he gets when he’s -” Benny stopped, almost grinning. “Determined.”

“Oh.” _Determined?_ What did that mean? Dean was still trying to wrap his head around the suggestion that it had been Cas’s parents that nixed the mine safety plans, not Cas. What was going on?

“Yeah.” Benny tossed back his drink and pulled some bills out of his wallet to leave on the bar. “So, like I said, I’ve got some free time. I thought about going up with him, but I’m not a huge fan of planes.” He paused contemplatively as he put his wallet away. “Then again, it’s only a day’s ride away...”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “And?”

“And nothing,” Benny said, face a mask of innocence. “Have a good night, brother,” he finished, clapping him on the shoulder before walking away. Dean’s gaze followed him as he left the bar, his mind still buzzing with suspicion. He was locked in place until a loud cough drew his attention to his booth, where Dad and Sam were staring at him with naked curiosity.

He dropped back into the seat beside them immediately. “What was that about?” Sam asked.

“Hm?” Dean said. “Oh, nothing. Hey, nachos!”

***

The bustle of downtown Chicago was impossible to hear from this high up - the cars and people Cas could see from his window like swarming insects. Davies International’s Chicago office tower was quite something - white and silver and somehow glowing from within. Probably a custom lighting package than cost ten times more than one of the miners made in a year.

Cas twisted a magazine between his fists nervously. He’d sent a humiliating email to his father to get this meeting - _realize I’ve made mistakes, I want to grow up and have a serious role at DI, can we meet in Chicago to discuss_ , blah blah blah. That his father was an hour late Cas had been expecting. The second hour was growing a bit trying.

And the secretary seated across the room kept glaring at him.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard “Castiel!” in a booming voice. He stood, schooling his face into a pleasant expression for -

“Raphael?” He asked. His brother took his hand as if it hadn’t been a question, his face smooth and expressionless as always. “It’s been too long,” he added to cover his confusion.

Raphael gestured to the empty conference room. “Please, come in.”

Cas followed, trying not to let his disappointment show. “So, how’re things?” he asked, taking a seat.

Raphael took the seat around the corner from him. His suit didn’t seem to wrinkle at all. “Father forwarded me your email,” he said. “He asked me to discuss any thoughts you have had about your future with you.”

Anger blossomed in Cas’s chest. “He’s not coming?”

“He’s quite busy,” Raph intoned, eyes flat.

Cas’s disappointment deepened, but with it came clarity. _This is why I came. It won’t matter after today._ “Okay,” Cas said. He slid the crumpled-up magazine across the table to Raphael.

Raph stared at it like it might infect him with something. “What’s this?”

“An advance copy of next week’s Rolling Stone,” Cas said. “Have you ever heard of Charlie Bradbury?”

Raph frowned. “Liberal nutjob. Didn’t she do that whole, whining series about climate change and -”

“Mine safety, yup,” Cas said. “Flip to page 68.”

With a minute sigh Raph did as he asked, and stared at the glossy page with his typical lack of expression. “I assure you, Castiel,” he said, “I am having no problems with erectile dysfunction.”

“Oops,” Cas chuckled. “Page 58.”

Raph flipped backwards, found the article, and then paused as his eyes caught on the familiar phrases. His eyebrows tightened. “What is this?”

“Bradbury’s feature on Davies International,” Cas said.

“I wasn’t aware we had given any interviews to -”

“Oh, I took care of it,” Cas explained, and Raph’s eyes snapped his his, his frown deepening. “She was eager to speak to someone from the company in the wake of the disaster - turns out mining companies have something of a bad reputation for dodging regulation and prioritizing profits over safety -”

“Castiel,” Raph growled.

“- so I wanted to assure her that that was not the case with us.” Raph blinked, surprised. “I told her all about our investment in new hydraulic equipment to make retreat mining safer, so that the circumstances of last week’s accident could never be repeated, _plus_ the rigorous new security protocols we’re using to minimize the risk of gaseous poisoning or explosive hazards. You’ll see, in the article she praises it as the most rigorous safety procedures she’s ever seen in a U.S. mine.” Raphael’s expression had descended to incendiary. Cas held in a chuckle as he continued, “I think that helped take her focus away from Zachariah Adler - I told her we’d let him go for gross incompetence, but she didn’t focus on that too much.”

“ _CASTIEL_ ,” Raphael thundered, so he rushed to finish.

“I have to say, overall, it’s a glowing review of Davies International, and from a widely-read publication. Which is good, because a scathing expose from a source like that could make a company’s stock plummet in _minutes_ ,” Cas emphasized. “And, I mean, you know Bradbury. She is like a dog with a bone when it comes to these kind of corporate responsibility stories. She does follow-ups, check-ins, undercover investigations.” Cas settled backward in his chair, happy to see the pieces beginning to fall into place on his brother’s face. “This is the beginning of a beautiful friendship between Bradbury and DI - she describes us as a pioneer of safety-conscious corporate governance, and she’s going to make sure we live up to that title for a _very_. Long time.”

There was an explosive silence. Finally, Raph bit out, “We'll call it what it is - a hoax.”

“You do that,” Cas said agreeably. “Call it a hoax about mine safety the week after two men died in our mine. See how that goes over.” He smiled. “The PR firm would cost more than the safety improvements.”

Raphael rose to his feet, wrath pouring off him in waves. “What have you _done?_ ”

“The right thing, brother,” Cas said quietly. “Too late.”

Raphael punched a button on the table and barked, “We need security in here!” He turned to Castiel, glaring. “Father will have your head for this.”

Cas smiled, feeling at peace for possibly the first time in his life. “Bring it.”

***

This had to be the dumbest thing Dean had ever done.

Goddamn eight hour drive to Chicago. Goddamn snooty hotel valet probably taking Baby for a joy ride and getting her all dinged up. Goddamn smug-ass Benny apparently calling ahead, so that when Dean asked for Cas at the goddamn palatial front desk they up and gave him a key to his goddamn penthouse suite.

... Goddamn feeling that he had to have one more conversation with Cas, just one, and then he'd be free of this.

The front desk guy had said that Cas was out, but Dean still paced nervously in the elevator on the way up. He had no idea what he was going to say. He supposed that depended on what Cas was here to do. Benny’s vague hints had been driving him crazy since last night.

The _ding_ of the elevator startled him a little. He got out and - _seriously?_ There were _two_ doors. Two. For the whole floor.

Dean sighed and tried the key on both, because obviously he didn’t remember _which_ penthouse suite the guy had told him to go to. The second one opened.

"Hello?” he called, cautiously. "Cas?" The lights were off and no one answered.

He ventured a little further. It was mostly neat: the living room untouched, the bed a bit mussed, but otherwise no signs of - Dean wasn’t quite sure what he had been expecting. But no signs of a party, no mysterious stains, no passed-out escorts. That was a plus.

There was an ipad lying on the bedside table. Figuring he had a while to wait and never one to turn down a good pry, Dean shrugged off his coat and turned it on. It opened to a PDF - a magazine article, it looked like. Cute redhead on the byline. It was about - Dean sucked in a breath. It was about the accident: _Rufus Turner, 56,_ right there in the first paragraph. It quickly became clear the author was no friend of Cas’s family. Dean started in surprise when a sentence began, _Corporate scion Castiel Davies says of the accident -_

There was a beep from the living room - the front door opening again. Dean fumbled with the ipad, threw it on the bed, and stood just as Cas entered the bedroom, saw him, and froze.

He was in his suit again, looking just as contradictory in it as he had the first time: all that fire smothered under rumpled black wool. That was Cas, though - just a hair shy of proper.

And his face - it was a jumble of amazed, confused, terrified, and cautiously optimistic. Achingly familiar, comforting against Dean’s will.

“Hey,” Dean said weakly.

“Dean,” Cas breathed. “What are you doing here?”

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” Dean said. When Cas frowned, he continued, “Ran into Benny in town. He said you’d come up here, something to do with your family. Sounded like you were trying to...” he trailed off, not sure what to say.

Cas glanced at the ipad lying on the bed, and Dean flushed a little at being caught snooping. “See for yourself,” Cas said.

Dean hesitated, then grabbed the ipad as Cas shucked his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He continued skimming the article - it was all about how seriously DI was taking safety measures after the accident. “I heard - in town,” Dean said, “I thought they weren’t doing this stuff.”

“They weren't,” Cas said. Dean looked at him. He seemed nervous, like Dean was quizzing him. He waited.

"My mother came to see me the night - after you left," Cas finally explained. "They knew everything, all the attempts I had made to fix things. She warned me to stop, to stay away. I knew if I was going to help the mine -” Dean’s heart sped up. “- it would have to be from the outside, somehow - Meg's financial shell-games wouldn't work anymore, not with them watching. Legal action would fall short; it's what they were bracing themselves for, and what they're good at. So," he finished, "I thought a good old-fashioned public shaming was in order."

Dean realized he was staring, and waved the ipad. "The article?"

"Comes out next week. I just came from breaking the news to my older brother, my father's right hand. He knows they're boxed in. They have to follow through on everything I described or they’ll be crucified."

Cas’s words echoed in Dean’s mind, and his heart was racing. He kept his head down and skimmed the article some more. “Diversifying energy strategy...” he mumbled. “Solar plant being developed in Lawrence.” He looked up at Cas, surprised.

"Sent my share in last night.” he said. “The publicity from the article should give it an extra boost. Any miners who don’t feel like returning to Little Branch will still be able to find employment.”

There was a rushing in Dean’s ears. He felt completely overwhelmed. “They have to do it now,” he said, because it still didn’t seem real. “They have to fix the mine?”

Cas smiled. “Yes.”

The other shoe dropped. Dean put down the ipad. "What’d they do to you?" He asked.

A wall slid down over Cas’s face, a façade of unconcern that would have looked genuine to anyone but Dean. "Oh, nothing much." he shrugged, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs. "Cut me off." Dean felt the blood drain from his face, but Cas just prattled on as if he was talking about the weather. "I’ll probably crash with a friend in the city for a while, as neither the Bough nor the private jet on which I flew here belong to me anymore, and I don’t _think_ the cash I have in my wallet will buy a plane ticket back. In fact -"

Dean heard his voice, and it was guttural. "You did this - all of this - for me?"

Cas looked up at him, his face soft with satisfaction. "No,” he said, “I didn’t do it for you. I did it for Rufus. And Bobby. And Ellen and Bill, and your father and Sam. For the town. Because it was the right thing to do." Cas's eyes had lost some of their focus as he spoke, but they locked onto Dean's now. "But I wouldn’t have done it if not for you.”

Dean wasn’t breathing, and he was suddenly very aware of how far apart he and Cas were standing. Cas smiled ruefully and said, “It’s funny - this started because I thought you were delusional, Dean. But I was the one who was lying to myself. My plan was to turn you into a deviant, like me. Instead you turned me into a man."

Definitely not breathing now. Words crowded up in Dean’s throat, but he couldn’t pick the right ones, and he was terrified of moving, so he stayed completely still. Cas was saying, "So... thank you." The silence stretched, growing awkwarder and awkwarder. Cas’s face was diplomatic, trying to smooth over the roughness between them. "Is this...” he paused, his eyes pleading. “Can we part friends, at least, Dean? You’re not angry?"

There was an ember in Dean’s chest, flickering but growing stronger with each breath he took, demanding his attention and sucking up all the oxygen and burning through his ribs. He felt incapable of speech, staring at Cas with a clenched jaw. After a moment, Cas nodded, walked across the room to the front door, and held it open for him.

That open door clarified everything. Dean walked up to Cas, shut the door, shoved Cas up against it, and kissed him.

Cas’s arms came around him instantly, his fingers tangled in Dean’s hair, but he breathed, "Dean," against his mouth, "what -"

"Shut up," Dean said, yanking him by his collar and turning them and walking Cas over to the bedroom.

"Is this goodbye sex," Cas gasped between kisses, "because I don’t think I can -"

"You’re awful mouthy for someone who’s behind about a week's worth of kisses," Dean said. The backs of Cas's knees hit the bed.

Cas gripped Dean's hair as he was trailing his lips down Cas's neck and brought them eye to eye. "Dean."

Dean swallowed. The room was so quiet. "It was real," he said. "It was real for me too.”

And then he couldn't understand why he'd been so scared to say it, not when it put that look on Cas's face.

Dean kissed him, and they fell onto the bed together, tugging at each others' clothes. With each inch of skin revealed the urgency dimmed, until it was a slow, drugging heat that fogged out everything beyond the four walls of the room. Part of Dean was screaming at him to go faster, do it rough, keep himself hidden, but the rest needed to learn every part of Cas, to take his time the way he didn't have a chance to before. And when he pulled off Cas's clothes, the trusting look on Cas's face was his reward; when Cas undressed him, his hot gaze and roaming palms kept Dean warm; when he dropped kisses down Cas's femur and across his eyebrows and over his ribs, Cas's eyes trained on his were a kiss back.

At some point Cas fished a bottle of lube out of his toiletry kit and dropped it onto the mattress, but Dean ignored it for a while - it wasn't as important as recreating everything Cas had done to him, lavishing kisses across his open palms, the crook of his neck, his hot, flat chest. Cas spent minutes licking and sucking on Dean's tattoo, while Dean hummed and buried his nose in Cas's hair, high on the scent. He felt bewitched, lightheaded; with Cas's stiff cock brushing his, he should have been mindless, control snapped - but it seemed impossible that he do this any way other than right, that he could skip any part of this moment. He waited until the need to get closer was pounding through his bloodstream, fingers clawing into Cas’s warm skin, to finally reach for the bottle.

He trusted Cas to let him know when he was ready, because Dean was beyond reason at the hot, slick clench of Cas around his fingers. He sucked on Cas's shoulder, anchoring there to keep himself patient, trying not to let Cas's gasps and grunts and gravelly instructions make him push in anything but slow and deliberate.

It had been seconds or hours when Cas's patience evaporated, and he manhandled Dean into sitting up fully, slicked him up, and sat down. The heat, the pressure, the weight of Cas bearing him down onto the soft bed were fireworks in Dean’s veins. He felt completely surrounded - Cas pressing down on his shoulders, Cas clenching his dick hot and wet, Cas's moans in his ears, Cas's eyes level with his.

The position wasn’t for a wild ride, but something slower - they rocked together experimentally, chasing the perfect angle, too close to do anything but pull apart barely an inch before grinding back together desperately. Dean felt delirious with it, pleasure ricocheting around his body, Cas's pleading noises a feedback loop that had him thrusting up harder, fingers scrabbling down Cas's back. He could feel himself unraveling, like he was the one split open from the inside, exposed, gasping, nails digging into Cas's hips. He wished he could move more, drive in deeper, because he was getting there so slowly it almost felt like it was slipping away, but he couldn't unwrap his arms from around Cas, needed Cas’s teeth sinking into his lip, didn't want Cas’s heart beating more than an inch away from his. So he took it, let it stretch him, wring him out, balance him on that edge until a second before it started aching something snapped and he came.

The trumpets subsided in time for him to open his eyes and see Cas grabbing his own dick between them, panting, sweaty, eyes almost watering. Dean closed his hand around Cas's, tugging hard, too tired to do anything else, to care what he whispered to Cas as he came, what Cas whispered back afterwards, strung out and messy and head lolling on Dean's shoulder.

They were _not_ staring into each others’ eyes in the dark hours later when a knock came at the door. “Mr. Davies!” they heard, muffled. “Mr. Davies? I’m sorry to bother you, sir, but there’s a problem with your reservation.”

Cas giggled into Dean’s shoulder. “Those’ll be my credit cards cancelled.”

“You’ll be fine,” Dean said, and kissed him on the nose. “You have a ride home.”


	15. Chapter 15

The sun hit Cas’s eyelids like a brick to the head.

“Why,” he moaned. 

“You’re the one who told me to wake you up early,” he heard from somewhere to his left. He cracked open an eyelid. Dean was fully dressed and obnoxiously awake on the other side of his bedroom. “Besides, you have no excuse now, Mr. Clean and Sober.”

Cas sat up on his elbows and glared at Dean. “We were up late!”

“Oh. Yeah,” Dean grinned. And he pounced onto the bed with Cas.

“Wait, wait,” Cas panted. “Don’t distract me. I have a busy day.”

“Blow it off,” Dean breathed into Cas’s neck, pulling him down on to the bed, “Stay with me.”

“I have to look at apartments,” Cas said, eyes skating around the room. There was something so erotic about fooling around in Dean’s childhood bedroom - he felt surrounded by history, by warmth, by family. And by a lot of heavy metal posters. “And they’ll probably cost money, so I have to find a job. Which will be tricky, because I have no skills. Except sarcasm,” Cas said.

“I can think of some others.”

“Dean...”

Dean disentangled himself only slightly. “You can stay here.”

“I can’t stay here,” Cas responded flatly.

“Why not?

“It’s too soon.” 

Dean gave him a look. “I lived with you for a month.”

Cas sputtered. “That was before.”

“Before what?” Dean asked, eyebrows wagging.

“Dean!”

Dean flopped back with a sigh. “Cas, you’re not going to find an apartment _today_. What were you planning to do? Sleep under a bridge?” 

Anxiety and shame coiled in Cas’s gut, and by the look on Dean’s face he realized what he’d inadvertently poked at. “Hey - hey, c’mon,” he said, rubbing Cas’s arms soothingly. “That’s why I wanted you to stay here. So you don’t have to freak out about this stuff. Let me... let me help you out, Cas. At least until you get on your feet.”

Unfortunately, it was a reasonable plan, no matter how nervous it made Cas. “Stay here until I can afford a place of my own?” he said.

“Well...” Dean rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, considering. “Under one condition.”

“What?”

Dean leaned in slowly, breathing onto Cas’s lips as his voice lowered. “I get at least one kiss a day.”

“Deal,” Cas whispered.


End file.
